


Children of Embers

by Lezer



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I
Genre: Action/Adventure, Chivalry, Conspiracy, Drama, Fantasy, Gen, Intrigue, Knights - Freeform, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2020-10-29 07:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 90,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20792987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lezer/pseuds/Lezer
Summary: In a curse-stricken world, there is little faith in prophesies. The Age of Fire is waning, and all that it created is facing destruction. They say that all roads converge upon Lordran, and somewhere in the lost kingdom lies the key to lifting the Undead Curse. They say a hero branded with a Darksign will unravel the fate of their brethren. But this world doesn't need heroes: it only needs those who will take one right step when nobody else would dare to.Having died in battle, a knight maiden from Astora has risen with a Darksign and set upon a journey of her life, hoping to uncover the mystery of the Curse. Aided by new friends and opposed by new enemies, she will face a caleidoscope of moral conundrums, desperately trying to fight for the greater good and retain her personal honor. Will the undead find their truth...?





	1. First Spark

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Дети угасшей эпохи](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/525629) by Лезер. 

_Never ask for the words for a prayer to those who came with you this far._

_Guiding us to rebirth through the death of our dreams is the very same star._

_Let the windy dawn burn the past away,_

_For the castle on a hill never shall betray._

_No paper left to spare,_

_That feeling in the air_

_As we entwined the words_

_And held each other’s hand,_

_And held each other’s hand._

_To fight until we fall,_

_Beneath the ancient wall_

_We swore a sacred oath:_

_“Be faithful to the end,_

_Be faithful to the end.”*_

*******

The thunder of hooves tore the forest idyll apart.

Ramilda Swann clenched her teeth and reached for the sword, a steely resolve etched on her young face. Two dozen knights of Astora rushed towards the enemy through a gloomy pinery, and she was the spearhead leading the charge. Atop of her partial plate armor was a blue surcoat with the golden emblem of the Order – ‘the Shield of Flowers.’ An open helmet with a red feather distinguished her from the others.

They rode through a glade spangled with huge rain puddles and hurried onwards, water spattering from under the hooves. A fresh nick marked a tree ahead.

“Sergeant, second mark!” she heard.

“Get ready!” Ramilda barked, pointing sidelong with her sword. “Frido! Flank’em from the right! Deal with the marksmen!”

“Yes, sergeant!” another knight shouted back. He pivoted his hand in the air, giving the signal, and separated from the wedge along with five others. Soon she could barely distinguish them amidst the trees.

Her flair didn’t let her down this time; there really was an ambush set up for them. The damned margrave had no intent of surrender even after the knights all but finished his reign of terror. After losing his family nest, the rebel lord hid in the woods with his men and kept harassing the Astorans. Earlier today, his soldiers pillaged and burned another village – simply a bait for the knights. They must have thought they would plunge headlong into pursuit, but Ramilda was smart enough to send scouts ahead. They didn’t fail.

Now her squadron was flanking the ambush, using the very same road curve the rebels occupied. They’ve probably heard their approach already, but the knights’ wedge advanced roughly parallel to the road: by the time the enemy realizes _where _they were coming from, it would be too late.

Their warhorses thundered through the managed woodland, and what little undergrowth there was didn’t hinder their advance. Sixteen knights will deliver the main strike. Five more under Frido’s command will flank and deal with those who run from the initial attack. Crossbowmen will drop the stragglers if everything goes right.

“Fall in!” Swann ordered.

The wedge opened up and stretched out. They were getting close. Her heart beat faster, anticipating the fight.

Soon, she glimpsed silhouettes between the trees. More numerous than the knights, some of them were probably in hiding on the other side of the road. Panicked shouting filled the air: only now did they realize what was happening. The knights of Astora rode straight into the rebels’ bare flank.

They let out no battle cry and simply lowered their lances. Amidst the ensuing chaos, Ramilda spotted two archers: one of them stopped and pulled the string, aiming for her. She raised her kite shield and ducked her head. The arrow scratched the rim of the shield and clanged against the helmet, breaking. The archer ran.

The knights smashed full speed into the enemy. Steel rang, and cries filled the air. Knocking down some unlucky brigand, Ramilda rode onwards. One more tried to block her way, swinging a long, spiked flail. Raising the sword, she slid to the right in her saddle and hacked as she exhaled. The flail went over her head, and the blade cut the brigand’s neck. The next one was armed with a spear, and she gave him a wide berth, letting the crossbowman after her deal with him. A trigger mechanism clicked, and the spearman fell with a bolt in his chest. Meanwhile, Swann emerged on the road and cut down the archer trying to run away.

Turning her horse, she rode sideways, covering herself from the arrows. Three horsemen were headed her way already, but her friends rode at her side. She glanced across the shoulder, making sure the berm overlooking the road was cleared. Somewhere, a wounded horse neighed in pain. The entire right side of the ambush was overrun – now they only had to finish what they started.

“Push, push, we gotta finish them!” she shouted. “Wulf, Amory, cover me!”

Four knights stormed past them, bringing the fight to the other side of the road. Cenwulf adjusted the lance in his hand, Amory raised his crossbow, but at that moment an arrow hit his neck. The knight fell from the saddle clutching at the wound. Ramilda could only curse and ride onwards.

“I’ll take the first one!” Cenwulf shouted.

The ‘first one’ was a bearded horseman in mail swinging his flail with a wild battle cry. Next to him rode a warrior clad in plate armor, a visored helmet on his head and a lance in hand. This one concerned Ramilda far worse, as he held the lance like a knight, aiming at her. If she were to clash in a wrong way, she would end up on the ground with broken bones.

She did the most sensible thing and simply peeled off to the right, evading the clash. The lance’s tip barely scratched her shield. Off to the left, the bearded horseman cried painfully; Cenwulf ran him through with a lance, unseating the foe.

Raising her shield again, Rami turned the horse and engaged the third horseman, blocking his cut, her counter-blow clanged against his helmet. A cut, another one, a lucky riposte – she drove a sword point into the enemy’s side, piercing the mail. He screamed angrily, aiming for another strike, and at that moment a bolt plunged into his heart. Ramilda glanced at her comrade and nodded abruptly.

She saw the rebel knight knocked off the horse, disarmed and wrestled to the ground. Enemy archers were all but gone, Frido’s knights already cut off the retreat and were sowing chaos in their midst. The battle was won. Off to the side, two soldiers mounted their horses and dashed away.

“Leonora is wounded!” she heard someone cry from behind.

“You two, help her and Amory!” she ordered, pointing her sword at different knights. “Watch the prisoner! Rest of you, run them down!”

She spurred the horse, Cenwulf and two others followed. To their left, their comrades finished off the stragglers. The road curved into an open space where trees grew sparsely. Rainwater mixed with mud dappled the clearing, spraying from under the hooves. The fugitives were riding down the road, shooting for the edge of the forest. Their horses were nothing like knightly steeds, but the latter were slightly tired from riding through the woods. The seething blood made Ramilda restless, and she had no intention of letting the enemy slip away.

She noticed a figure emerge from behind a tree ahead – too late. All she saw were flames bursting out of a hand cannon’s muzzle. There was a loud bang, and next she knew, she was out of the saddle. A sharp pain spread like fire through her chest, and the world spun in front of her eyes.

She fell into the puddle and was tossed by the force of impact, her entire body in clutches of pain. Moments later, Ramilda was lying on her back, unable to move. The heart stopped beating, and the suffering felt unbearable. She couldn’t breathe and felt blood humming inside her head. In that instant, she knew she was dying. She wanted to cry for help, but the lungs did not obey. In the distance, she could hear hooves galloping. High above, beyond the black, naked tree branches, a gray sky lumbered. She realized this sky would be the last thing she’d ever see, and along with the pain came burning despair and terror before the inevitable end. Everything was fading away. The entire world shattered into a million pieces, and darkness finally engulfed her.

***

A flash at the edge of consciousness. A strange hum in her head, like an otherworldly chorus. Time and space felt barely tangible, creating a heavy, disorienting sense. Some smooth movement was the only thing anchoring her to the real world.

How much time had passed?

And where was she floating…?

Slowly, she came to her senses, and the hum vanished. Instead, she could hear the peaceful clatter of hooves and familiar voices. The strange viscous pain in her lower chest disappeared as well. Moments later, Ramilda realized she was riding in a saddle, arms wrapped around the horse’s neck. She couldn’t feel the helmet on her head. The rest of the unit rode nearby, stretched into a column.

The knight frowned. She was weak and felt like she would barely stand on her own, but most of all, something else bothered her. She had no recollection of what happened and how she ended up like this. She could remember the action and the chase, but some crucial detail kept eluding her.

And then Rami remembered. And as soon as the image of bursting flames flashed in her mind, she could feel her heart racing.

She was killed. She was dying there, under that gray, sullen sky. She recalled that tremendous pain and the all-consuming terror. One couldn’t possibly survive a bullet through the heart. Even if by some miracle she was rescued, the only miracle-maker in the squadron didn’t have any magic that could possibly heal her wound. Not _that _wound. Yet, there was no indication of pain. Something was wrong.

With a weak moan, Ramilda freed her arms from a simple noose and straightened up in the saddle, stopping the steed. As soon as she moved, the whole squadron erupted into screaming and cursing. Several knights quickly surrounded her, swords drawn. All eyes converged on Rami, full of shock and surprise, and some were looking at her with blatant hostility.

“What the hell!?”

“Get down!”

“Gwyn Almighty, she rose up, she rose up!”

“Get down now!”

The knightess cursed through her teeth.

“What’s going on?” she asked in a hoarse voice and cleared her throat. “Why the hell did you draw your swords?”

“Get down from the horse now,” one of the knights enunciated, pointing a lance at her. “And hand over your weapon.”

“Get your picker out of my face, Sigibert,” Rami replied adamantly. “Report properly! What’s going on?”

“Sigi, don’t listen to her! She’s possessed!” someone else shouted.

“Yes, she must be possessed by a demon!”

“Quiet, you idiots!” the fair-haired Frido exclaimed, forcing his way to Ramilda. “What demon are you talking about? Look at her face!”

Swann touched it almost unconsciously. She could feel some strange wrinkles near the nose where there used to be none, and something that felt like scabs in random places. For a moment, she was at a loss: it was all about to slide into chaos, and she couldn’t understand why.

“Your weapon!” Sigibert insisted.

“Rami, what happened to you?” she heard Leonora’s voice. A knightess with short brown hair had a bandaged wound on her leg, and with this observation Ramilda confirmed to herself she wasn’t delirious. “You recognize me?”

“Don’t talk to her, sister! She can lash out at you!”

“We have to disarm her!”

“Ramilda, say something!” Frido shouted.

The pressure mounted, and Rami failed catastrophically to try and gather her thoughts. Then, commander’s instincts kicked in. Taking a deep breath, she raised her hand and bellowed:

“Silence! Stop this ruckus!”

Everyone fell quiet. Sigibert’s lance was still pointed at her chest, the rest of the knights held their swords at the ready. She looked over everyone, trying desperately to keep face. Something clearly went wrong, but first, she had to calm her men.

“You are knights of Astora, not a herd of sheep! Get a hold of yourselves! I recognize everyone,” she added calmly. “And I’m still your sergeant.”

“Begone, demon!”

“Shut up, you fool!” Leonora shouted. “Can’t you see a sergeant is talking?”

“Get this scaremonger the hell out of here,” Rami ordered.

“She is no demon! She is undead!”

These words slashed like a whip. She only needed a moment more, and then the realization caught up with her. Ramilda felt her heart sink. Now, everything was clear.

“He’s right,” Sigibert said, looking her in the eye. “You are undead and therefore relieved of command. Now hand over your weapon.”

“Quiet!” Frido ordered. In an emergency, if the sergeant was out of commission, he was the one to take command but even he got confused in the chaos and only now asserted control. “There are no demons here! Listen to the sergeant!”

“Order, knights, order,” Ramilda articulated every word. “I will hand over my weapon. Whatever happens, stay calm. Frido!”

She demonstrated empty hands to Sigibert and untied the scabbard from her belt, tossing it to Frido. She placed her misericorde into Leonora’s hands.

“Now, tell me properly what happened. Cenwulf, you were the last one to ride with me. Report.”

“Sergeant, you… you were killed. A gunner ambushed us. He shot you with a hand cannon, right through the heart. When I… when I rode up, you were already dead.”

Ramilda closed her eyes and shook her head. She still couldn’t believe what happened.

“He’s telling the truth, Rami” Leonora added. “We all saw that. I’m sorry, there was nothing we could do. You… you were gone.”

“You turned undead, Ramilda,” Sigibert said. “There’s a curse upon you.”

“I didn’t give you permission to speak, knight,” she replied. “Keep discipline. Frido, action report. What are the casualties?”

“Sergeant… You sure you’re fine?”

“I am of sound mind, Frido. What are the casualties?”

“Three wounded. Amory was really bad, but we saved him. Sergeant Ramilda Swann… died in battle.”

“Enemy status?”

“Defeated. We killed most of them, one or two managed to flee. Two prisoners.”

“Understood.”

“Frido, we have to tie her up,” Sigibert insisted. “Now that she’s undead she can lose control of herself.”

“She is not hollow, Sigi!” Leonora retorted. “She’s in perfect control!”

“She is still our commander!” another knight assented.

“Like hell she is!” Sigibert cut off. “Or did you forget how to deal with the undead? We have orders.”

“That’s right, she’s cursed! She is no longer human!”

“We can’t trust her!”

“What are you talking about?” Leonora was furious. “Don’t you dare touch her!”

“Oh, I will dare!” Sigibert stated, moving the lance her way. “What are you, a traitor wannabe?”

“Stand down!” Frido barked.

“Who’s the traitor here?” Leonora didn’t seem to listen either. “Rami is human, she talked to you, she is our sister goddammit!”

“She is _undead! _Ramilda is gone, and we can’t change that! This abomination is no Ramilda anymore! Stop with the sentimentality, she’ll kill you first when she goes hollow!”

“So what, we should just treat her like a dog now?”

“Sigibert, this isn’t right,” Frido said. “We got to make sure, got to double-check everything.”

“You dolt! What do you want to double-check? She has a Darksign on her body, and it will soon consume her!”

“For Gwyn’s sake, people don’t go hollow that fast! Nobody’s seen this Darksign yet, we must look at it first and make decisions second.”

“He must’ve forgotten already how she saved his ass,” Leonora said. “What are you, bloody monsters!?”

“Nora!” Ramilda hailed her. “Calm down. And stop with the clamor, all of you! The moment I die, you unravel, I swear to gods! Even if I turned undead, you have a second-in-command. Listen to him and don’t make it a bedlam! Because knights take no part in bedlam. You’re in command now, Frido.”

“Sergeant… we have to examine you now. Please get down. Nora, help me out with the cuirass.”

Ramilda nodded, dismounting. For a brief moment, she felt like her comrades were a pack of hounds cornering the game. Those cautious, wary, sometimes outright hostile looks truly made her feel like a lone wolf. There was no talking to the undead. She still couldn’t wrap her head around this. She was now a bearer of the Darksign, and those who used to call her friend were now subconsciously afraid of her. Even those who could still see a human in her. Some, it seemed, had written her off completely, like Sigibert.

As her comrades helped her out of the cuirass, Rami peered into the faces surrounding her, trying desperately to catch but a glimpse of compassion in their eyes. For now, only fear and distrust prevailed. Suddenly, she too felt really afraid. Nausea creeped its way up and she could barely suppress it, taking a deep breath. With great difficulty, she found the resolve to look Frido and Leonora in the eye. What she saw there brought her a slight relief.

The cuirass clanged on the ground as Rami unfastened her arming doublet. She pulled up her blue shirt and examined herself. Just below her chest, a black stain of the Darksign sprawled – a mark of the Curse. She gasped quietly with a shudder. Now that it all was confirmed, despair almost overwhelmed her. She wanted to scream but managed to find strength within and keep cool in front of her former subordinates.

“The Darksign is there,” she announced nonchalantly, demonstrating it to the others. The knights gasped. She simply fastened the arming doublet like nothing happened. “Frido, lead the squadron back to the castle. Treat me as your subordinate.”

“Sergeant Swann will ride unbound!” Frido ordered, waving his arm in a forbidding gesture. “I will watch her personally. Sigibert, you will ride along with me. Saddle up!”

They all mounted their horses and moved forward in grim silence. Ramilda simply went through the motions, aloof and withdrawn. Her gaze wandered somewhere out of this world, barely watching the road. Thoughts linked in a mercilessly painful cycle. Her future was swiftly fading away, crumbling into oblivion.

She became a pariah, now and forever. The Curse of undead branded her, and there was no going back.

***

Logs crackled in the fireplace, consumed by fire. For the longest time, Captain Conrad de Plancy peered into the flame, as if trying to find within it the answer to the question that troubled him for the past few weeks. The dance of orange tongues mesmerized him, and every now and then the captain thought he could see a pitch-black darkness among them. The dark sun engulfed in flames. The mark of the Curse he had seen so many times before.

Half a millennium has passed since the fall of Lordran, the first and the mightiest kingdom of men, founded by Gwyn the Lightbringer in time immemorial, when he waged war against dragons. The immortal lord who found a great soul in the First Flame. Having freed humankind of the dragons’ tyranny, he reigned supreme, and the Flame gave him strength, shielding the world from the baneful darkness. But even this fire turned out to be ephemeral. And when the Flame almost faded, the Curse of the undead crept across the world, and darkness followed, taking root. Then, Lord Gwyn sacrificed himself to the Flame, lighting it anew, and for a time, it seemed, the Dark retreated.

Yet, even this sacrifice was not enough. Lordran stood for less than a hundred years before the Curse emerged once more, and the once mighty kingdom was the first to fall before it. Its dwellers turned undead en masse, its overlords locked themselves up in Anor Londo, and after a period of anarchy and chaos, a total collapse followed. Then, the Curse spread again, but the lands of men were still standing. For now.

Half a millennium was a long time. Humans adapted, like always, but the Dark took its toll, little by little. In countries like Astora or Catarina, the issue of the undead was bearable, but over the years, several dominions in the north fell victim to the Curse, and the sun spared no light for these lands anymore. Time and again, de Plancy caught himself thinking that the same doom could befall his native Astora.

He also caught himself thinking many things were different these days, unlike the way it was during the first outbreak of the Curse, before Gwyn’s sacrifice. Knowledge offered by chronicles was surprisingly scarce, as if there was a deliberate effort to hush it up. The notorious issue of bonfires and their Keepers remained extremely obscure. Why did they appear on a large scale during the second outbreak, but not the first? Why were the soul-hungry undead so allured by them? Why were the Fire Keepers always female? Why did the newly-turned undead keep their sanity and what exactly made them go hollow, gradually losing their own self as they kept dying time and again? Questions without answers. The church of the Way of White evidently possessed many secrets, but kept silent, as always. And the problem still remained.

Hunting the undead was a nasty, graceless business, and the knights were reluctant to sign up for it. Slaying hollows to them was a routine that didn’t contradict their cause, simply because hollows were empty shells with neither sapience nor personality. However, hunting down those who only turned recently stank of witch-hunting, which most knights, including de Plancy, despised. Those people were perfectly aware, indistinguishable from their own selves before their first death. They were the same people who only yesterday were someone’s neighbors, friends, colleagues, battle brothers. And this caused many conscious knights to question the entire thing. Yet the policy of the Crown and the Way of White remained unequivocal, so the knights had to comply and take this poison.

It was even more bitterly painful if the Curse took some of their own. It was a rare occurrence, but every time it felt like a tragedy. Every time it sent ripples across the pond, causing heated arguments, accusations, grudges, and general bitterness. Knights of Astora never gave up their own. And yet, every knight who became undead had to be turned in to the Way of White. Harboring was equal to treason. Many years ago, when the Order tried to conceal the fact that one of them turned undead, it brought severe repercussions upon them. That infamous matter of prince Ricard.

Conrad knew many instances like this. Once, he himself had to throw two of his knights to the wolves, two people he loved and appreciated. He couldn’t call it anything other than betrayal. Now, the Curse once again hung over him, sparking unrest among his men.

Captain sighed and closed his eyes. In his fingers was a letter, one that he didn’t have a heart to read for several minutes now. It was from Baldwin Torne, the Order’s superintendent and a good friend of Conrad’s. This correspondence was private, having arrived separately from the official orders, behind the scenes. Knowing Baldwin’s character, Conrad could already guess what to expect from the letter, but was still unable to bring himself to read it. He jerked his head, realizing there was no delaying the inevitable, and unfolded the paper.

_“…Conrad, I strongly advise you to wash your hands of this. It is sealed, the decision is made, there’s no changing it. I don’t need to remind you what world we live in: bonfires burn for a reason. We can debate ad nauseam if there’s any truth to what the Whites preach, but we can’t deny one truth they insist on: the undead are **dangerous.** They are a threat to mankind, and the fall of Lordran is the prime example of it. If Gwyn’s own kingdom came to such an end, what would happen to other countries if we allow this to spread? Balder and Berenike had already fallen into darkness, and how many more are yet to fall? The First Flame is the only thing separating us from this nightmare. We both saw that, Conrad, so tell me, why of all times did you have to rebel now?_

_What happened to Ramilda Swann is a nasty thing, I can’t deny that. She was very promising, and I’m just as upset as you are that we lost a good knight. Especially if we keep in mind what a legend her father was. But a Darksign is a Darksign. The Grand Master made up his mind: she will be sent to the Asylum, and that would be the end of it. You say that she could help us understand the problem better, but nobody would agree to this – not the Grand Master, not the king, not the archbishop. I don’t even know if it’s better to give up your humanity to the bonfire against your will until you go hollow, or rot to the same point in the Asylum. All I know is that she turned undead, and there is only one fate for the undead._

_Clerics are already furious that their whole affair with the Asylum was revealed. And they are not in the mood to negotiate. Have you heard? Thorolund is furious with that new little book that told the truth of their ‘church’ in the north, of how the ‘pilgrimage’ is nothing but bait for the desperate, and of the demon jailers. Soon everyone will learn of the prison, but I don’t think anything is going to change. People are scared to death that hollows may flood the fields and the streets. We could possibly get away with this in Catarina, but we are in Astora. Can you imagine what would happen if anybody finds out that Knights of Astora themselves harbor an undead in their midst? Again? A catastrophe, Conrad! That story with prince Ricard is still remembered, and any such instance is a threat to both the Crown and the Order._

_You say that we are fighting the symptoms, not the cause, and you are correct. But we are fighting a threat that we can’t comprehend for now. We can berate the Church all we want, but allow me to remind you of something. For two thousand years, the Way of White has served **the idea.** Not the gods, not Gwyn, not Allfather Lloyd – the idea. The idea that the First Flame is crucial to the existence of this world, and that the Age of Dark will destroy everything we know. Beyond defending our home country, we, Knights of Astora, serve this idea, too. We’ve been fighting the Curse for centuries now. And for the Flame to live, bonfires must burn. Maybe one of these days the bright minds in Vinheim or some such will discover the crux of the issue and find out how to better combat the Curse, maybe even lift it. But until then, you and I both have to act in the most reasonable way we know.”_

Bonfires. Must. Burn. Conrad’s heart bled at the sound of these words. The very idea of binding the undead to these magical fires and making them relinquish their humanity until they go hollow seemed inhuman. As far as he was concerned, it was simply a ritualized murder. Accompanied by lofty words of compassion, self-sacrifice, even by care for the victim, but murder nonetheless. However, many undead, especially those deemed too dangerous, were being sent north, to the notorious Undead Asylum, a decrepit church that once was a destination for many pilgrims. These days, it served as a prison for the undead, with demons as jailers. In an attempt to save itself, humanity set upon a truly dark path.

Rami was one of the best. Conrad still remembered that blue-eyed, red-haired girl who joined the Order after her father’s death, carrying only her parent’s longsword at her side. Commander Thurmod Swann was rightly considered one of the greatest knights in his generation. De Plancy himself was both a student and a friend to him. Out of seven years that Ramilda gave the Order, five of them she served under Conrad’s command. She distinguished herself in all campaigns and missions – some doubted her at first, but she turned out to be worthy of her father.

She dealt flawlessly with that ambush. The fact that she, the commander, was the only fatality in the squadron spoke for itself. Even Amory was pulled from the brink by a miracle both literal and figurative. And so, when she rose up with a black brand underneath the armor, Conrad couldn’t believe what had happened.

Once, he swore he will never again betray his own. Naturally, he couldn’t keep the incident secret, so for a month now, Rami has been locked up in the castle, awaiting her fate, while Conrad was tap dancing before the brass. This incident was the last straw for him, and the captain hoped he’d be able to work something out. He had ideas of how Ramilda could help them in a new capacity, designs to finally alleviate the undead stigma – all in vain. They didn’t even listen to him. Those who did shook their heads in unison, both Baldwin and Grand Master de Redin. He had to give up his knight again – and live with it. That was the reality.

Was it though?

The captain left the cozy armchair behind and started pacing about the room, humming a familiar tune. He had options, of course. He could keep his conscience clear and wash his hands not only of this matter but of the Order, too. That would change nothing though, so that option was unacceptable. He could get way out of line and go straight to the king with it, but it was unlikely the king would listen, and the Order would hate the captain for this stunt. Conrad was ready to sacrifice his career, but it would be foolish to throw his chance to influence the situation out the window, which would be the likeliest result of his parley with the monarch. Soon, however, he would lose his chance anyway: on his table lay the order to deliver Ramilda to a specific place on a specific day. So he had to make his move in what little time he had left.

He could, in the end, simply disobey and arrange for her to escape. That implied a whole array of consequences for both of them, and the end result was hard to predict. Baldwin was right about one thing: there was only one fate for the undead. Conrad had some idea of how the undead could revert the process of hollowing – he was sure Rami could do that. But if he was to set this plan in motion, there had to be some purpose to it.

Captain had little doubt that Ramilda would do something meaningful with her life even if he just gave her a second chance, but she had few options. Everywhere the undead went, they were met with fear, hatred and contempt. The Great Swamps were about the only safe haven for them, home to all different kinds of heretics and outcasts. Not to mention that the young knight couldn’t fathom her existence without the Order: it was her entire purpose in life. Yet, Conrad couldn’t help but think he could find a matching key.

He approached a lancet window, opened it, and gazed upon the castle yard, his hands pushing against a windowsill. He felt a fresh, gentle breeze on his face. In the distance, beyond the castle walls and above the forest, a bright-yellow rift split the clouded sky, lit with the glow of the sun sailing towards the horizon.

There was also this vague prophecy. “Thou who art Undead, art chosen. In thine exodus from the Undead Asylum, maketh pilgrimage to the land of Ancient Lords. When thou ringeth the Bell of Awakening, the fate of the Undead thou shalt know.”

Captain de Plancy had no love for vague prophecies. But he could see a kernel of truth in these lines. What if the key to the Curse truly was in Lordran? The Whites must have been sending expeditions there for a reason. Obviously, they knew something that others didn’t, but cracking their secrets was a different matter. On the other hand, the idea to send _their own_ people into Lordran has long circulated in certain quarters, Knights of Astora included, though it involved great danger. This was the idea that Conrad pitched to the Grand Master, hoping to secure salvation for Ramilda. Alas, he was made to understand the idea was too dangerous, crazy even, and would likely make matters worse for the Order.

And so, now the captain was here, in the castle of an outlaw margrave, and he had a choice to make. He could see the immediate consequences of possible decisions, and none of them were too bright. And yet, gazing into the golden horizon, he kept thinking that only one of these decisions could bear truly far-reaching consequences. Consequences that lay far beyond his line of sight, that could not be predicted. But Captain de Plancy could well imagine their scope.

“We will walk the ivory stairway… To a land so far away…” he cited the half-forgotten verses he had heard long ago. “Yeah, that’s serious. Serious, and very much so.”

Conrad smiled wistfully. He drummed his fingers on a windowsill and nodded repeatedly. Aside from Rami herself, most of all, he was going to miss her songs.

Now he knew what had to be done. It’s going to be unpleasant. It’s going to be tough. Especially for Ramilda. But it was time for a change, time for a chance, and the captain considered it necessary to take it, even if the chance itself was slim.

Because somebody had to.

***

The wind from the north was blowing cold. A lonely wayfarer entered a valley between the mountain spurs, wrapping herself up in a dark-blue cloak. The rocky ground was sparsely covered with moss and meager grass, and everything for miles around seemed desolate, forlorn, not a single soul in sight.

Ramilda shivered and stopped, taking in the landscape. Far ahead of her, seated on a cliff, she could see an old timeworn watchtower. Long ago, this was princedom of Lothian’s northern border, but people abandoned this place, fearing the undead. There, beyond the mountains, lay the land of Lordran. The road she took led to the pass and beyond – to a rocky shore where the Asylum towered above the cliffs.

It was almost a month since she escaped. Captain de Plancy and her friends organized it well. They took her from the castle under guard, as they should have, and then simply vanished into the wilderness. They gave Ramilda her arms and armor, a horse, some money and supplies for the road. Captain promised to submit a bogus report telling how the prisoner escaped in the night and couldn’t be found. All who took part in this repeatedly rehearsed the collective story they would claim. Nora even wanted to take Ramilda’s guitar from the castle, but she got too nervous and forgot to do that, lamenting it all the way as they separated. Rami hardly cared: her friends already risked everything to free her, and she couldn’t thank them enough.

Along with the gear, she was given a mission. Captain told her everything the night before, when he visited her in her cell to relay the plan of escape. As far as he was concerned, Ramilda simply departed on a mission – the most important one in her life. Get into Lordran, find the source of the Curse, and lift it if possible. As far as _she_ was concerned, there could be no ‘if’ at all.

After leaving Astora, Swann avoided Thorolund’s territory, never staying in one place for long, and headed further north. Her face hasn’t born any clear display of hollowing yet, and what few signs she had, she could blame on smallpox. Luckily, even if somebody suspected her, nothing happened. Only problem was, the wolves killed her horse the other night. She had to leave some things behind, but even without them, walking in armor and with a tightly packed bag was not easy. Now, at least, she felt like a true pilgrim.

Only now, far from Astora, she decided to put on her blue surcoat again. If she was to walk the road of the prophecy, she had to do this without hiding her identity. Even if the prophecy was hogwash, she had to get to the bottom of it and find out how to lift the Curse. Neither she, nor de Plancy had any clue where to look. They only speculated the salvation could be found in Lordran. But Ramilda swore she would do everything she could. Her first destination was a dilapidated church turned prison. The Northern Undead Asylum.

Helping herself with an improvised hiking stick, she headed for the abandoned watchtower. The sky was cloudy all day long – it would be good to find shelter in case it rains. Mercenaries of the White Church sometimes used this road to convoy people like her to the Asylum, but right now the valley was desolate. Only minutes later, as she approached the tower, she noticed a flicker through the doorway: the fire was burning inside. Which meant there were people.

She decided to carefully check the tower anyway. There were no horses outside, which meant it was no war party. She approached the foot of the ledge to conceal herself and listened. No voices could be heard, and she couldn’t discern the distinctive cracking of firewood either. She started to realize what _kind_ of fire it was. She pulled her blade one inch from its scabbard and moved in.

As she ascended the cliff, she recognized a pleasant ethereal hum of the magical bonfire. These fires were made of undead bones, and it seemed like they could burn for the longest time without blackening, slowly vanishing into the magic flames. Such was the power of the First Flame, and every bonfire was lit from its divine spark. A coiled sword with a four-pronged crossguard was plugged into the center of the fire pit. A strange sense of attraction arose within, as if the bonfire beckoned her, and Ramilda had a sense of burden lifted off her shoulders.

Before she could enter, she heard light steps on the floor. Moments later, a woman in a woolen dress and a green shoulder cape came out to meet her. Braided blonde hair went all the way down to the waist. Ramilda bowed to her.

“Greetings,” she said. “Sorry, did I disturb you?”

“Not at all,” the woman responded. “Did you come from afar?”

“One could say so, yes,” Ramilda smiled, sheathing her sword completely. The woman turned her head slightly, and it was only now that Ramilda noticed she was blind. “I am Ramilda Swann, knight of Astora.”

“Ælswith,” the woman introduced herself. “Please, come over to the bonfire, be my guest. People like you need some rest on their long journey.”

“How do you mean?” Rami asked, squinting slightly.

“I can feel your Darksign. It’s a heavy burden.”

“How did you know?” the knight was baffled.

“I am a Fire Keeper. We feel certain things that others can’t. You and I are both touched by the Abyss… though in different ways. I may be blind, but I can sense darkness in others.”

“A Keeper… Does it mean you can help me?”

“Yes. I think I know what you want to ask. Come in, please.”

Ramilda nodded with a heavy sigh and stepped towards the bonfire. She dropped her traveling bag and took off the helmet, exposing red hair tied in a high ponytail and covering the forehead with trimmed bangs. Flickering flames reflected in her blue eyes. For a long moment, she stared at the bonfire, lost in thought.

“Have you seen it before?” Ælswith asked, snapping her out of it.

“Once. But back then… I wasn’t undead. Feels like… it’s beckoning me now.”

“It is a matter of course,” the Keeper nodded. “All who are cursed are drawn to the flame. Even ordinary people gravitate towards the warmth subconsciously, let alone the undead. But you probably know that.”

“What about the Keepers? Are you cursed as well?”

“Not exactly. It’s hard to explain. But we, too, carry a shard of darkness within. And too much humanity – to the point that it alters our soul,” Ælswith nodded at the bonfire. “Reach for the sword. Don’t be afraid of the pull.”

Ramilda hesitated for a moment, then approached the fire and extended her arm. Almost immediately, something stirred within her, something instinctive, as if spurring her to perform a familiar act. She recoiled in confusion.

“Don’t be scared. The fire is trying to link with you.”

“What will happen then? I heard the accursed who are linked to the bonfire are resurrected right there if they die again… until they go hollow, that is.”

“Yes, you heard right. Don’t worry. The accursed gain certain powers that other people don’t have. You felt like you already knew how to do this, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. It isn’t… dangerous?”

Ælswith shook her head. Rami reached for the coiled sword again and closed her eyes, trying to concentrate and link herself with the bonfire. Next moment, she felt an invigorating wave of heat run through her body, and the flames wavered, shooting a burst of sparks, as if it was greeting the guest. Her feet were sore from marching, making her desperate to sit down, and the knight stopped resisting the urge.

“The flames give you strength,” Ælswith reaffirmed, sitting down opposite her. “It’s like… a beacon of hope for the lost ones, don’t you think?”

Ramilda nodded silently, looking the Keeper in the eye, and only then remembered that she was blind.

“Yeah,” she said quietly.

“What brings you to Lordran?”

“A mission. I must lift the Curse.”

Ælswith grunted musingly.

“They placed such a grand task upon the shoulders of one person?”

“What choice do I have?” Ramilda smiled wearily. “Either I give up, or I fight to the bitter end.”

“And you wish to do this… for what?”

“For all of us. I…” she swallowed, glancing to the side briefly. “I would lie if I tell you I don’t want to save myself. Because my life is on the line, too. And I want to get it back – my friends, my place in the Knights, my dreams. But I want to do all I can to lift the Curse entirely. So that nobody had to suffer it.”

“Everybody wants to live,” Ælswith nodded. “Without repression, without suffering. There is no shame in that. But to lift the Curse entirely…? You think it possible?”

“I must try. If there is a shameful page in the history of our Order, it’s the fact that we still did nothing to get to the truth. We just let the Whites to push us about and gave up our brothers and sisters. Isn’t it madness? The fact that people turn their back on their friends so fast – everywhere? It’s easy enough to see a threat in someone, but somehow nobody can fathom someone else’s suffering…” Rami shook her head with a sigh. “And we were complicit in this. I was. You know, I always felt compassion for the undead, but I did nothing to help their plight. Only now… that I became one, did I realize how terrible it is. And I can’t– I can’t possibly look at myself in the mirror if I don’t do all I can for everyone’s sake. I am a knight. This is my cause. And… this is my dream, too, you know? To free myself and help free the others. And all I have is the shield to protect this dream with, and a sword that carries the memory of all that I hold dear.”

Ælswith nodded knowingly, a warm smile on her face.

“Is there something else bothering you?”

The knight shrugged.

“It’s not easy. Coming to terms with the idea that you became _the other._ You know, there was a time when I had to leave everything behind. When my parents died. But back then, I still had people who helped me tremendously. Out of compassion and for the memory of my father – he was in the Knights, too. And now… I’m all alone. And maybe there _is_ no going back, ever.”

“Your friends did help you escape, right?”

“Yeah. They didn’t turn their backs on me, and I’ll be forever grateful for that. If it wasn’t for them, I would be done for. And they’re in danger, too, all of them. And if not for all of mankind, then for their sake alone I _will_ fight to the end. It’s just hard without them is all.”

“Yeah, it’s hard to carry on without a shoulder to lean on. They couldn’t come with you, but I’m sure they wish you luck and pray for you every day. And maybe, in a way, your friends are still with you. Who knows, maybe the opinion of a blind woman is worth something. They are noble souls, your friends. Just like you, it seems.”

“Thank you,” Ramilda sighed, slightly relieved.

“I must tell you this: you will find no cure in Lordran. Not in an obvious way at least. All the dark souls converge on that land, even live their own lives there. But for now, nobody managed to get rid of the Darksign. If only the prophecy of the undead turned out to be true… Is that what you’re looking for?”

“In a sense. I don’t put much stock in prophecies, but I must try regardless. I need to get to the Northern Asylum. There could be sane inmates still.”

“And you are ready to risk your life for them? You do know that this is a prison for the undead, not a shelter?”

“Yes. The Whites dump the hollowing there. The bastards even make a profit out of it…”

“And do you know that the prison is guarded by two demons from Izalith?”

“No. Only heard rumors.”

“One of them is a jailer, the other – executioner. As far as I know, the latter dwells in the basement and torments the prisoners. Just for his own twisted enjoyment. He is far more dangerous than his sibling, so try to avoid confronting him. The Jailer is dangerous, too – I’m afraid, it’s going to be hard to fight him alone. They have a small host of hollows who obey them.”

“Hollows? I knew demon sorcerers could play with your mind, possess even, but hollows…?”

“Yes. They possess the power of Izalith’s fire, and all living are drawn to the flame.”

“…Yeah, and it hardly matters that the flame of Chaos is just a twisted imitation of the First Flame, I get that. They teach that in the Order.”

“True. See, the hollows have no consciousness to resist it, so they are perfect victims in that sense.”

Ramilda nodded meaningfully.

“Yeah… it makes sense. Thanks for the warning.”

She slowly unsheathed her blade. It was a longsword made of excellent steel with broad, slightly curved quillons. An oblong grip with a dark-blue wrapping and a round pommel was meant for two hands, but this sword could be wielded with just one, paired with a shield. The blade only bore superficial marks of the battles it went through, barely damaged over the seventeen years – nothing a good polish couldn’t handle. Ramilda has only carried it for seven years: it belonged to her father before. It was the sword that they brought to her that black-lettered day along with the terrible news. That day, her mother and she learned of commander Swann’s death on the battlefield. Slowly twiddling with the sword, Ramilda looked at it intently.

“Say, Ælswith… How many times do I have to die before I go completely hollow?

“I have no answer to this question. It depends solely on you and your will to live. A soul gives us life, but it is our humanity, our ‘dark essence’ that bestows upon us the character, the will, our dreams and wishes, all that makes us distinct personalities. And with each death, this humanity melts away, but death is not the only reason you lose part of it. It seeps away exactly as much as you are ready to let it go. As much as you’re ready to despair. For those who are on the brink already, one death is all it takes to go hollow. And those who have the willpower, a sort of passion, a dogged determination to pursue their goal at all costs may die dozens, even hundreds of times before they lose heart. It’s all in your hands.”

Ramilda nodded, suddenly feeling strong again. Those words were music to her ears. If there was one thing she had confidence in, it was that she will never give in. Even though she feared she might not be strong enough. The Keeper’s timing couldn’t be more perfect.

“I understand. Thank you. Do you… do you mind if I rest here for a while?”

“Of course not. Rest well. Let me help you with the armor.”

Once they were finished with that, the Fire Keeper disappeared up the spiral staircase for a time. Ramilda stayed at the bonfire, mesmerized by the glimmer of flames on her sword blade. A little later, Ælswith came back and approached her.

“You know, I have a gift for you. It might sound strange, but I have long expected someone like you.”

She sat on her knees and produced a translucent flask out of her shoulder bag. Inside the flask was a slightly glowing bright liquid the color of amber. A hunch flashed in Ramilda’s mind.

“Estus…?”

“Yes. You know what it is?”

“It’s a bonfire’s flame turned liquid. Is it true it can heal?”

“Only the undead, when they ingest it. Don’t ask me why – I don’t know the answer. I dole these flasks out to those who pass through the valley,” she gave the vessel to Ramilda. “Keep it safe. It is your most valuable treasure.”

“My sincere thanks,” Rami replied, taking the flask. “I… How can I thank you?”

“No need,” the Keeper smiled. “And take this too. You’re going to need it.”

She produced a vial this time. Then, magically, with a gentle hand motion, she pulled out a fluid mass – slightly elongated and pitch-black. The color was so deep that the true form of the sprite was hardly discernable, its rims glowing white with what resembled a weak flame. This sent a chill down Ramilda’s spine: she once saw a mass just like this one. It was the essence of humanity. Looking at it, she couldn’t help but imagine its shape somewhat resembled a human silhouette.

“Give it to the bonfire, and you will be imbued with it. It will somewhat revert the hollowing.

“No, you didn’t just… No, no, you’re far too kind! I can’t accept this! Please, save it for other pilgrims, they need it more than I do! There may be someone out there who is… far more hollowed than I.”

“You have a difficult fight and an arduous journey ahead of you. I know who to give it to. Open your hands, please.”

Ramilda complied hesitantly. The essence slid down onto her palm and hovered over it. For some time, the knight stared at it, still barely believing she could manipulate it. Then, as if she really knew what to do, she kneeled before the bonfire and extended her arm towards the gentle flame, offering the humanity.

The flames flared up, engulfing the hand without burning it. The essence of humanity glowed white, transformed by the fire’s magic. Something that lay very deep reverberated within – near that place on her body where she was branded with the Darksign. As if something that dwelled inside her all along tried to break through the black seal, feeling something familiar, _kindred_ nearby, before the flame dissolved it completely. Rami felt the pain, like a heated iron touching the skin. Hissing through the clenched teeth, she waited until the mass of humanity dissipated without trace and pulled up her shirt. The edges of a roughly round seal were glowing with fire. Slowly, it faded, and along with it the pain subsided, too.

“Is this normal?” Ramilda asked.

“Yes. Alas, it is the price we pay. Do you have a mirror? Take a look.”

Swann quickly rummaged through her bag and produced a small mirror. There was no trace of marks and creases on her face. None at all.

“I can’t even fathom how I can thank you,” she uttered touching her cheek. “You did so much for me already I feel embarrassed.”

“Don’t think about it,” Ælswith replied with a smile.

They sat by the bonfire well into the evening and had a soulful chat. Ælswith told little of herself, trying to steer the flow of the conversation towards Ramilda and her life, her friends and parents, her hopes and dreams. This wasn’t lost on the knightess who tried to shift the flow as well, but was nevertheless deeply thankful that the Keeper simply let her vent. That night, she had the most serene and sound sleep in weeks.

There was a rain in the morning, and the clouds lifted in the afternoon. Knowing what Ramilda had to face, Ælswith gifted her with three more Estus flasks so that she could give them to the prisoners of the Asylum if she rescues anybody. Ramilda was in the middle of packing when she heard some noise upstairs followed by an unusually loud caw. The Fire Keeper was absent for quite a long time, so Rami decided to go check on her. Ælswith descended to face her.

“Have you packed?”

“Yeah. What was it upstairs?”

“Ah… something quite unusual. It looks like you piqued someone’s interest.”

“How do you mean?”

“I wish I knew. I have a guess though. You… do know of the goddess Velka?”

Ramilda gave a little shiver. Velka, also known as the Black Goddess, was the goddess of Sin. But not in a literal sense. Her image was that of a just deity _punishing_ for the sins – and absolving them. Her cult was mainly represented by small, tightly-knit groups and communities scattered across the land. It was only in Carim that the cult had large presence, though it still wasn’t as big as the Way of White. Velka, once an ally to the gods of Lordran that the Whites worshipped, was a controversial figure that long since separated from them, placed in a peculiar opposition to the Way of White. She hasn’t revealed herself to the world for hundreds of years, but her black-robed priests, called ‘pardoners’, absolved people’s sins in her name, a competition to the White Church. It was said that Velka still conveyed her will through her messengers, giant black crows, creatures of myth to some, who, nevertheless, really existed.

“I do. Why do you ask?”

“Then you also know about her messengers. It seems one of them has just landed on the top of this tower and… told me she wishes to help you. To be precise, she wants to deliver you to the Asylum and from there to Lordran. Looks like the Black Goddess is truly interested in you. I have little idea why, but I have a hunch.”

“If you say so…” Ramilda uttered, trying to wrap her head around all this. What Ælswith told her was so unexpected and outlandish she could barely believe it. It felt like a dream. But the Fire Keeper was dead serious. “Does this… messenger wish to depart right away?”

“If I know gods, they seldom tolerate the delay,” Ælswith chuckled. “But I think you should better see it for yourself. May I help you with the armor?”

“If you will, please.”

Minutes later, accompanied by the Keeper, Rami ascended to the platform on top of the tower, her weapon and bag in tow. She was utterly stunned by what she saw. Atop the decrepit crenellations, feathers ruffled from a cold sweeping wind, sat a giant black crow that could easily grab a human with a single claw hand. The bird turned its head towards Ramilda, almost like it was examining her, and the knight couldn’t avert her gaze. For several moments, they have been staring at each other. Having no idea what else to do, Rami bowed her head. And the crow bowed in turn.

“Is it true that you are Velka’s messenger?”

The crow tilted its head and cawed loudly. That was a confirmation.

“Why does your goddess need me?”

The crow looked up, opening its beak, and spoke in a guttural, almost human voice.

“Lordran. Lordran. The bell tolls!”

“The bell? Do you mean the Bell of Awakening?”

“The bell tolls! Fate of the undead! You! To the Asylum, to the Asylum!”

“Yes, I need to get there. Is there anyone I can rescue?”

The messenger confirmed with another caw.

“Can you help me get there?”

Same answer. Tilting its head again, the crow continued in a different voice.

“Anor Londo! Anor Londo! Your fate awaits! The mistress watches!”

“If she wills it… But why me?”

“The bell tolls! A brave heart! A brave heart is needed!”

“And your mistress will ask nothing in exchange for help?”

“Nothing! The mistress watches. The mistress knows.”

“Well then… will you carry me?”

The crow straightened, flapping its wings, and looked north with a caw.

“Then let me say goodbye to the Fire Keeper.”

Another cawing reply. Ramilda checked her gear and made sure she forgot nothing. After that, she approached the blind Keeper, looking her in the eye.

“Ælswith… Thank you for everything. You helped me a great deal. If we ever meet again, I will make sure to return the favor.”

She embraced the Keeper, and Ælswith put her arms around her too.

“Good luck to you. Save who you can… and be safe. Vereor nox.”

“Goodbye, Ælswith. Goodbye,” she repeated, stepping back. “Hearken, ye black messenger! I am ready! Carry me north, to the Asylum!”

With a loud caw, the crow flapped its wings and took off its perch. In a moment, its claws locked around Ramilda, and her heart skipped a beat when the creature lifted her in the air. Holding to her bag with one hand, she clutched the crow’s leg with the other. For a brief moment, she forgot how to breathe. The lonely tower got smaller and smaller as Ælswith watched them fly away with her blind eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Novelizing games is, broadly speaking, a graceless business. Novelizing tabletop RPGs... eh, not so much.
> 
> Dark Souls is beautiful in a way that it allows for a plethora of different theories and lore interpretations. Some of them may seem more plausible than others, but often it comes down to personal preferences. The best thing is that the canon is often very loose, and many of these interpretations can be equally viable. Anyone can choose the variant that makes most sense to them, assembling their own puzzle in their head. The puzzle I've put together eventually became a roleplaying campaign that traced the events of Dark Souls I, which I then novelized. I'm deeply grateful to my players without whom this story would have never been born.
> 
> This story is simply my interpretation of Dark Souls. And it is no more or less viable than any other. Some people wouldn't like it, and it's completely normal. I simply hope that someone will end up liking the stories I tell through this interpretation. That the sparks of this fire I've wrought are worth something.
> 
> TL;DR: a band of ragamuffins ganks the bosses of Lordran and talks of chivalry and nobler things inbetween.
> 
> *The verses are a translation of a Russian song "Посвящение Бертрану" (A Pledge to Bertran) by Taem Greenhill (Тэм Гринхилл) whose songs inspired me to create this work.


	2. The Miserables

_In the Age of Ancients, the world was unformed, shrouded by fog. A land of gray crags, Archtrees and Everlasting Dragons. But then there was Fire, and with Fire came disparity. Heat and cold, life and death, and of course, Light and Dark. Then from the Dark, They came, and found the Souls of Lords within the flame. Nito, the First of the Dead; The Witch of Izalith and her Daughters of Chaos; Gwyn, the Lord of Sunlight, and his faithful knights. And the Furtive Pygmy, so easily forgotten._

_With the strength of Lords, they challenged the Dragons. Gwyn's mighty bolts peeled apart their stone scales. The Witches weaved great firestorms. Nito unleashed a miasma of death and disease. And Seath the Scaleless betrayed his own, and the Dragons were no more._

_Thus began the Age of Fire. But soon the flames will fade and only Dark will remain. Even now there are only embers, and man sees not light, but only endless nights. And amongst the living are seen carriers of the accursed Darksign. Yes, indeed, the Darksign brands the Undead. And in this land, the Undead are corralled and led to the north, where they are locked away, to await the end of the world..._

_– The opening lines from the ‘Book of the Last Days’, Anonymous._

***

Hours stretched slowly, like a spinning thread. Here, in a dank, cold, and empty cell, time altered its pace in a weird fashion. Sunlight shining through a hole in the ceiling was the only point of reference – at the very least, the sky was visible. Other than that, the sense of time was elusive. For Xendric, a wizard alumnus of Vinheim Dragon School, there hardly was a thing worse than that.

He was too accustomed to having _control_ over his life. This was true during his youthful days in Vinheim, it was true at the court of Duke Arstor in Carim, and it remained so even after his first death, when he was on the run from the undead hunters. Here, any semblance of control vanished; the only form of control he had was combing his hair. Even the fact that he had a comb was likely a result of oversight. And so, in order not to descend into madness, he counted the days, scratching tally marks on the wall with a sharp stone. And – tried to plan his escape.

It had been three weeks since he was locked up here. Idleness, loneliness, cold, hunger, and thirst numbed his thinking. Out of all the inmates in this crumbling leprosorium, Xendric was the only one to keep his sanity, and food and water were simply nonexistent. That was the whole system: the undead inmates were forcibly linked to a local bonfire, then died repeatedly of starvation in their cells until going hollow. After that, they either swelled the ranks of ‘prison guards’, subject to the demon jailer’s will, or were thrown out into the sea.

The unlucky ones were to become toys for the Executioner – the Jailer’s demonic brother who dwelled in the prison’s basement. The underground corridor running up to Xendric’s cell was only separated from it by a grate with a stone foundation, so he could hear the screams in the night loud and clear. Not two days ago he observed the Executioner smash several bars and impale another victim whose head he covered with a bag. The body was still there, skewered – it was another hollow.

On a rare occasion, Xendric collected rainwater through a hole in the ceiling, though it was only enough for several drinks. Yesterday, instead of rain, there was a snow over the Asylum. Hunger didn’t bother him as much at this point: even before the Asylum, he died several times and found out that the more he hollowed, the less his body needed the bare necessities. Besides, the undead could satiate their hunger by consuming souls. It was one of those mysterious, visceral abilities, as well as manipulating their humanity and lighting bonfires. There was no explaining it, but the undead really could intuitively manipulate the essence of the soul and consume it. Even among sorcerers, all of whom weaved their spells using the power of souls, few possessed this ability.

On the other hand, his memory became leery: he could think clearly still, but it seemed like some memories were hopelessly lost. He desperately tried to remember _why_ his enemies at court sent a murderer with a knife his way, but couldn’t recollect a single fragment, a single lead. He also remembered he was an advisor and confidante to Duke Arstor – and apparently conducted some sort of research, but he had no memory of what exactly it was.

He tried breaking out once. He predictably starved to death and reemerged by the bonfire, and somehow, the Jailer missed him at first. The sorcerer tried to locate the place where the demon stored his staff, but to no avail. The Jailer quickly found and killed him, and after Xendric rose once more, the demon locked him up straight away. At least now Xendric knew where his weapon _wasn’t._ He was convinced that the inmates’ possessions weren’t disposed of straight away – the Way of White mercenaries who escorted the undead to the Asylum had a habit of either looting them, or giving their belongings to the Jailer. Apparently, the demon himself disapproved of looting, as he loved collecting things and had to arm his hollows somehow.

The sorcerer intended on escaping sooner or later, even though he realized he had little hope. He wasn’t sure how much was truly left in him. Many of the undead hollowed completely upon their second death, but he still had the will to live. But in order to obtain freedom, he definitely had to push the limits – even if by some miracle he would get his staff back.

Right now, though, he was pushing the limit by simply trying to concentrate. Just today, they threw a new one into a cell next to him – a knight of Astora, judging by the armor and the blue surcoat. Their meeting kicked off as the knight started praying out loud, which irritated the wizard to no end. His new neighbor was clearly sane and could become instrumental in the escape, but proved to be a tough nut to crack: the knight was on the brink of despair. It was like Xendric had to pull information with pliers, especially seeing how the knight had a habit to speak pretentiously about nothing in particular. In addition, a hollow down the corridor kept banging his head against the bars, which didn’t exactly facilitate the thought process. So, for a minute now, Xendric kept quiet, trying to find a way to steer the conversation where he needed to.

“Can you hear me, mister?” the knight spoke all of a sudden.

“Yes, I can.”

“My name is Somerset.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Xendric replied, slightly annoyed. It was the first coherent piece of information he pried out of the knight. The pounding down the corridor finally stopped.

“…What’s yours?”

“Xendric. If that’s of any importance to you.”

“Right now, even this can distract me from my sorrow.”

They were still going in circles. Then again, he could at least try.

“So what is it that you grieve for? Aside from being stuck here.”

“You really wish to know? Well, then again, why not… It doesn’t matter now regardless,” the knight sighed dramatically. “There was this maiden I loved. I thought she was going to be faithful to me. But the winds of destiny carried me too far away for far too long. And while I was away, she… happened to marry an enemy of our family.”

“Ah, children’s troubles,” Xendric said wistfully, shaking his head. It was a story he heard and observed more than once. “If you were older, you would realize this whole rigmarole is not worth getting so worked up over.”

Somerset stayed silent for a moment.

“I had thoughts of killing myself. But in this state…? It’s simply impossible.”

“Heh, well, don’t get discouraged,” the sorcerer quipped. “Almost nothing is impossible. The only question is what you’re going to achieve by doing that.”

“Peace?”

“Hah, no. It’ll be even worse than before in our position. Haven’t you died after you turned?”

“I have. More than once.”

“Well, then you should know that there’s hardly any peace to be found in death.”

“That may be so. How did you end up here?”

The sorcerer smacked his lips.

“Well, I’m not here on my own accord, if that’s what you mean.”

“Who is?” Somerset chuckled sadly. “Only madmen, I reckon.”

“Oh, trust me, there are plenty of madmen out there who believe all the nonsense about this place. They come here like an obedient flock. Naturally, they tend to get disappointed,” he paused, thinking on his next sentence. It looked like it was time to plant an idea in the knight’s head. “If only we had a chance to acquire weapons… or at least find out where they keep them.”

“I think there’s little sense in that.”

“So what, you propose we keep rotting here?”

“We have no choice. Not unless you can destroy the bars with your spells.”

Xendric laughed sardonically.

“Believe me, child, I would’ve done that long ago if I could.”

“I’m hardly a child.”

“Heheh, all children think this way. It’s just a phase. It’ll pass. Hardly matters now though. Tell me, haven’t you noticed where they carried your gear?”

“No, unfortunately. Who knows, maybe there’s happiness to be found in resigning to your fate.”

The sorcerer let out a beleaguered sigh.

“Go ask that hollow about it – that one, curled up in the corner. Or that fellow over there, trying to crawl under the bars. Poor thing tried to dig a tunnel to the last,” he chuckled. “They’re going to tell you all about happiness in resignation. Listen to me, sir knight: we don’t have time for this. But we can apply your strength in the right way. Let’s say we start a little something, make some noise to provoke the guards. _Then_ we take the keys and get out of here – I’m sure you can take on a couple of hollows. Then there’s, of course, the issue of the Jailer, but we might slip past him… or, if things go south, at least die simultaneously to rise together and try something else. At the very least, we gotta check that left corridor behind the main hall…”

Suddenly, he heard a loud caw and glimpsed a large shadow flying over the hole in the ceiling. Their underground corridor was not situated underneath the main building, unlike the Executioner’s basement, but to the side of it, which is why he could see the sky through the hole in the ceiling. It was too high to get to it though. But what happened next made the sorcerer forget about the shadow entirely: something clanged, and steps echoed in the corridor. Xendric got on his feet with a grunt and leaned against the bars. It looked like more fellow unfortunates have arrived: seven figures walked into the corridor. Two of them did not belong to the guards and had quite an exotic look about them.

The first one was definitely a warrior. Over the dark baggy clothes, he wore armor made of dark-red lacquered plates – lamellar spaulders and other elements were laced together with black silken cord. A helm with a big rounded neckguard protected his head, and the forehead plate displayed a gilded crescent-shaped crest. A metal mask with angry, ominous features disguised his face. Evidently, he came from the Far East. Even tied up and pulled by two guards, he walked with dignity, retaining an aura of superiority.

The second one was a bald swarthy man nearly untouched by hollowing – quite handsome, though he clearly wasn’t a youth. He wore a simple tunic with short sleeves and big pauldrons attached to it, as well as a yellow sarong. His hands were big and strong – it seemed like he, too, had a close acquaintance with martial arts.

As they approached, one of the hollows started bashing his head against the bars again. The guards pushed the prisoners against the wall as the keymaster unlocked the cells. He simply killed his hollowed brother, ceasing his suffering, and tossed the body out into the corridor. Xendric decided to wait with the provocation: right now, rocking the boat was rather unwise. What he could do is talk to these new people, improving their chance of escape. The inmates were thrown into the cells and locked, and the hollow guards left.

“Hey,” the sorcerer hailed them. “You’re not hollow yet, are you? How may I address you? My name is Xendric.”

For a moment or two, the inmates stayed quiet.

“Mendes,” the answer came. A swarthy warrior approached the bars.

“Ryu of Katsumoto clan,” the other one responded in a low voice. He had almost no accent. “Lord of Hiruna castle, if that tells you anything.”

“Are you… a knight as well?” Somerset asked.

“Not precisely. Where I come from, they call us ‘samurai.”

“My my, what a company,” Xendric uttered. “Wise men, ye came from far and wide. Gentlemen, did you notice by any chance where the jailers stashed your weapons? I assume you didn’t arrive empty-handed.”

“The guards carried it to the corridor that connects to the main hall. I noticed it while that… _yokai_ drew the flame out of my companion here.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing. Have you noticed anything useful? Or were you simply admiring the scenery?”

The eastern warrior chuckled.

“Of course I did. Contemplation has a charm to it, especially when you lack control. But do not worry. In time, I will get rid of my restraints, and then maybe I’ll do something with the lock.”

“You have a lockpick?” Xendric squinted suspiciously.

“Just a hairpin. There is no small number of sane people, I see. The Jailer made a mistake by bunching us all together.”

“Still, we shouldn’t underestimate him. See the grate opposite you? There’s one more demon behind it, in the dark. Even if you get out of the cell, he’ll notice and make a lot of noise. I think… if you can unlock the door… we’re better off if we wait for the keymaster and attack him. Then you can let us all out in no time.”

“True. But if he doesn’t come, we will still have to make a ruckus. Patience.”

Xendric nodded, satisfied. It looked like they finally got a chance – and it looked like the samurai knew what he was doing.

All of a sudden, he heard a muffled demonic roar. It wasn’t Executioner: the sound came from the end of the corridor, which meant something was going on in the main building. There was hardly a reason to worry, but the mage grew suspicious nonetheless. Some time passed, then the birds up above got spooked. A moment later, Xendric heard a loud thump behind his back. Startled, he turned around: on the floor lay the hollow keymaster with a gaping wound in his back. The sorcerer looked up and saw a silhouette kneeling over the hole – he couldn’t quite make out who it was, but the figure was definitely armored. Catching Xendric’s eye, the silhouette pointed at the hollow.

“The keys!” a young voice shouted.

Before he could even reply, some noise came from upstairs, and the stranger turned abruptly.

“Shit… Get to the West wing, left from the main hall!” said the figure as it disappeared. “I’ll meet you there!”

The sorcerer wasted no time. He rushed to the corpse, took the keys and started going through them.

“Xendric, are you fine?” Somerset called out, anxious. “Xendric! What happened? Are you all right?”

“Just one moment, my friend, try and keep quiet for me,” the sorcerer replied matter-of-factly. Drawing the Executioner’s attention now was the worst idea.

“What happened to you over there!? Xendric!”

“Stop yelling,” he said distinctly. “Please. Just one moment. I’ll tell you everything in no time… Just, please, don’t make too much noise. We don’t want to draw the undesired attention, now, do we?” he finally picked the right key and nodded, satisfied. “Gentlemen. I have a favor to ask: whatever happens, stay as quiet as possible. Then, _maybe,_ something good will come out of this.”

“What are you talking about!?” Somerset just wouldn’t stop.

“I said _quiet,_” Xendric barely kept his cool.

“Calm down, knight,” Ryu said. “You’ll see it yourself now.”

The Astoran stopped talking. Xendric let out a constrained sigh and slowly turned the key in the keyhole. He made sure the Executioner was somewhere in the farthest dark of the basement and quietly left the cell. Then he walked up to the others. The first one was Somerset – a surprised gasp escaped his lips as he saw the sorcerer.

“How!?”

Xendric hissed, pressing a finger against his lips.

“If somebody hears us now, we’re dead. Now rise and walk, my child.”

He noticed that the knight’s face was severely affected by the hollowing, though not as much as his own. Having let Somerset out, he proceeded to do the same with the others, even opening the cells with hollows. The latter barely reacted to that. When he helped untie the new prisoners, they all heard a muffled noise, as if something massive slammed into the masonry, shattering the stones.

“We have to move, fast,” Somerset said.

“First thing we should do is take our weapons back,” Xendric noted, looking at Ryu. “That left corridor from the main hall? The West wing?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go. I hope our savior can find us…”

They hurried along the corridor, went up the stairs and found themselves in a spacious room where sewage was being pooled in a separate bay, trickling into the drain. A single hollow was squatting right in the water, staring into nothing with an absent gaze. Somerset looked around and picked a rusty broken sword that must’ve lain there for a long time.

They proceeded to a small round tower and went up the spiral staircase. As they walked through an arch, they emerged in the Asylum’s courtyard. In its middle, a bonfire with a coiled sword was lit. A symbol of the undead, their deliverance, refuge and delight. And their certain doom in the wrong hands.

Surrounded by high stone walls and arched galleries, they still haven’t noticed a single guard. They could hear steel ringing from the upper levels of the annex, but whatever was happening there was out of sight for now. The central building towered ahead; a set of steps went up to a giant faux arch and impressive doors leading to the main hall. Mendes ran up the stairs first and pushed the doors with Somerset at his side.

They found themselves in a large hall with two colonnades on the sides and a collapsed roof. There was no trace of the Jailer and his guards. The prisoners glanced at each other and ran forward. Then, they heard someone stomping. Up ahead, above the opposite doors, in an empty aperture where a stained-glass window used to be, a giant silhouette emerged. The Jailer appeared a fat, hulking fifteen-foot tall colossus with massive legs and disproportionally small wings. Branching antlers crowned his head, bare teeth forming a dreadful countenance on his bloated face. In his hands was a huge menacing club that could squash a human.

With a bellowing roar, the demon jumped off the aperture and slammed into the floor, blocking the way out. To their left, behind a colonnade, they glimpsed a small passage, but it was evident the demon would easily smash anyone before they could get there.

“Someone, distract him,” Xendric said calmly. Only now did the rest snap out of it. “We gotta draw him away from the passage.”

With a short laugh, Mendes stepped forward. He ran along the right colonnade, picking up a stone on the run, and tossed it towards the demon. The Jailer barely noticed this pathetic attempt to distract him and stayed where he was, slowly raising his club. Somerset lowered the visor on his armet and ran forward, broken sword over his head. The demon was about to deliver his blow when Katsumoto cried out:

“Watch out! Jump under it!”

The knight noticed the diagonal movement of the weapon and dived. The club’s head went over him and smashed into the floor, sending debris and dust flying into the air. As Somerset rolled and moved to the right, distracting the demon, Ryu nodded to Xendric, and they both rushed to the passage. The samurai got there first, threw open the door and stepped aside, letting Xendric slip into the passage.

“Run!” the wizard shouted.

“Let’s go, move it!” Ryu echoed.

Somerset managed to hit a demon with his sorry excuse for a weapon, but only scratched his thick hide. The demon hit him with his foot, the knight fell back and barely evaded the next swing of a club. Seizing the moment, Mendes crossed the entire hall like a lightning bolt and whooshed into the passage.

“Somerset!” Ryu bellowed. “Come on!”

“I’m not finished yet!” the knight shouted back, charging at the demon.

“You’re going to die, you fool!”

With a flap of his wings, the demon pulled his bloated body up into the air and tried to simply land on Somerset, crushing him. The knight jumped away at the last moment. Back at his feet again, he turned towards the abomination, clearly not intending to run.

Katsumoto cursed. As the demon was pulling himself up, the samurai dashed towards Somerset, seized the knight and dragged him towards the door. Mendes appeared at his side that very instant, helping him drag the stubborn Astoran; he tried to resist, but there was nothing he could do against the two.

“Let go! I can’t run from danger!”

They almost made it to the door when the demon brought his club down on them. Ryu, anticipating the blow, pushed them all forward, and they were only grazed by the massive head, but even that was enough to send them flying. Mendes took the worst of the blow and grunted, tumbling down the stairs behind the door. Katsumoto sprang to his feet, pushed Somerset into the passage and shut the door behind them.

They found themselves in the relative safety of a closed corridor: the demon couldn’t get them here. Somerset raised his visor, panting. Mendes barely stood up: his entire back was bloodied, and it looked like he broke a couple of ribs.

“Why did you stay!?” he asked angrily with a strong accent.

“Ah, I see our young friend got carried away,” Xendric remarked, speaking in an ostentatious mentoring voice. “Let me explain what you were expected to do. You had to distract the demon, then – _run_ through the doorway.”

“Knights never run,” he retorted, seemingly offended.

“But a smart knight will know when to retreat,” Ryu pointed out.

“There!” Xendric exclaimed. “An intelligent observation.”

“I didn’t want to just run the way you did. It’s undignified.”

“A pointless death is undignified, too,” Ryu countered. “If you die uselessly, then you rob your liege of a good servant. That’s the way we see it at home. And you should keep it in mind.”

“I have no liege anymore.”

“But you do have allies who _you_ have just put in danger. But no matter… We should move.”

“Wise words,” Xendric said. “I suppose, locating our belongings is the first order of business. If you’re quite finished, let us go then.”

“Well… Lead the way, old man,” Somerset said.

“I will, _young man._”

The hapless party moved on. Irritated, Mendes gestured at the broken sword and said:

“With a weapon like this, it’s not even a fight.”

Somerset didn’t reply. They came into another room lined with sewage canals, where a very long narrow passage branched to the side, gradually elevating. It used to be a normal corridor with prison cells, but the ceiling had completely collapsed. Only the remains of arched vaults towered over the moss-covered walls. As they emerged under the sky, they didn’t even realize what was wrong at first. Katsumoto was the first to notice a silhouette in the distance, then grabbed Xendric and pushed him to the side, hugging the wall. An arrow whizzed past them.

“Archer!” the samurai warned. “Over there, take cover, fast! Take cover!”

He pointed at an open cell not far from them, with a rusty grate lying nearby. Without further ado, Mendes ran up to the mage and tapped him on the back, bending over.

“Get on me!”

Xendric didn’t hesitate. Mendes clenched his teeth, enduring the pain, grabbed the sorcerer’s feet firmly and rushed towards the cell. He made it just in time to avoid another arrow. Xendric jumped down, noticed an old beat-up shield near a shriveled dead body and gestured at it with a sigh of relief.

Somerset was running past them when an arrow hit him on the helmet – just above his eye-slit. It glanced off, but shook the knight nonetheless, and he took cover in the cell on the opposite side along with Katsumoto.

“Madman!” Mendes shouted, picking up the shield, and turned to Xendric. “Stay here.”

“Draw his arrows!” Ryu barked, pointing at Mendes. “Somerset, when Mendes is halfway there, we wait for the shot and rush him! Don’t run before I say so! Xendric, stay back!”

Xendric liked this samurai already. He was a sharp warrior and definitely was in his element, even when he had to command strangers.

Mendes nodded, then peeked around the corner and walked forward with his shield up. The archer loosed an arrow, the warrior crouched, covering his head, and the fletched shaft sank into the shield. The hollow moved several paces back, pulled the string and shot again – Mendes caught this arrow too. At this moment, Ryu tapped Somerset on the shoulder, and they both charged forward.

Xendric, once again, lamented the absence of his staff. He picked up a stone, leaned out and threw it towards the hollow, but it fell way short. Mendes, however, snatched the stone and gave it a proper hurl. The archer was pulling the string when the projectile hit him right on the head, destroying his aim – the arrow glanced off Somerset’s pauldron. Ryu caught up with the retreating hollow, wrestled him down and smashed his head against the stones. He then looked up at Xendric and gave him a sign.

“Stay alert, there might be more guards nearby.”

“Our gear is somewhere near, too,” Mendes replied. “I can smell it.”

He was right. Turning the next corner, they came under the roof again and found a locked door. They dealt with it quickly, entering a storage room. Everything that used to belong to the inmates and wasn’t taken by mercenaries ended up there. Ryu took his tall, asymmetrical bow and a curved sword with a circular guard. Somerset armed himself with a two-handed sword and a dagger in an ornate scabbard. Mendes tucked two war axes under his belt and hung two smaller ones behind his back in a special harness. Xendric finally got his staff back and belted himself with an arming sword and a dagger. Now, they only had to get out of here.

***

The fight carried her to the roof – the guards pursued her relentlessly. Ramilda could only hope it will distract them from the escapees. Aside from the one in whose cell she threw the corpse, there was a couple of new arrivals, which meant they had chances. She hoped to get inside and meet them in the West wing, but was unable to do it so far.

The flask with the living flame was still full, but Swann could feel it was not for long. She has been on delaying retreat up until now and managed to cut down some of the hollows. Now, only two swordsmen with chopped-up shields pursued her, pushing her up the stairs.

Jumping at an opportunity, Ramilda struck from overhead – the foe blocked with the shield, making himself open, and she kicked him in the chest. The hollow fell over on his fellow, and they both rumbled down the steps. Rami hurried up the stairs, pulling a fire bomb from a belt pouch, and grabbed a smoldering piece of match cord strapped to her helmet. While the hollows recovered from falling, she lit a piece of cloth sticking from a spherical vessel and tossed onto the ladder. As the bomb burst into flames, the flaming liquid blocked the stairs with fire. That should keep them at bay for a short time. Now, she only had to find another way down.

Grabbing her sword again, Ramilda ran out onto the roof, and it was at this moment that the strike came. All this time, she eluded the demon jailer, but now he ambushed her on the roof, having hidden his massive body behind the remnants of a small tower. She covered reflexively with a shield and ducked to the side, but it didn’t save her. She evaded the club’s ominous head, but getting hit with the shaft was bad enough – the shield couldn’t help at all against such mass. She smacked onto the stones, and her entire ribcage erupted in pain.

Such was the force of the strike that it collapsed a damaged section of the roof, and Rami rolled away and fell right into the hole. She hit her spine on the rubble and groaned, struggling to breathe. Up there, beyond that hole, the gray sky lumbered above her again. For a few seconds, she didn’t even move – any attempt to stand up caused her pain. Her ribs were aching mercilessly. But this time, a bullet didn’t pierce her heart, and her breath was in no hurry to leave. She will not die – not now. She couldn’t let down Captain de Plancy and all who helped her in her darkest hour, putting themselves at risk. And even if death was to find her now, she wouldn’t stop until the Darksign burns the last of her humanity. She only had to reach the Estus flask that rolled to the side.

Turning her head, she noticed a breach in the wall – dust settled around, as if something had just created it. Through the breach, four figures rushed towards her. The first one was that gray-haired man touched by the hollowing considerably to whom she threw the keys. He had thick, neatly combed mid-length hair and a short beard with moustache. His clothes consisted of a purple robe and a black mantle with a large shoulder cape. Elegant black gloves reached up to the elbows. On his finger sat a ring with an azure signet and a gray depiction of a dragon – he was a Vinheim graduate.

To her surprise, the tallest of the escapees also wore a blue surcoat with a golden crest, an armet with a visor on his head. He must have noticed a familiar emblem too, for he rushed to Swann and grabbed her hand.

“Brother! Are you alright?”

Pointing at the Estus vessel, Ramilda gathered her strength and uttered:

“The flask… Hurry… And I’m not a brother, knight.”

A bald swarthy warrior armed with axes didn’t linger and gave her the Estus. Opening the flask, Ramilda took a couple of swigs and felt a gentle warmth flowing through her veins. The pain slowly subsided. Her broken ribs were mending.

“Was it the demon?” the knight asked.

“Who else,” Rami forced a smile and bided a moment, letting the Estus do its work. “We’ll get him yet.”

“Fear not, sister. I will avenge you,” the knight blurted out. This sounded so unexpectedly hilarious that she didn’t quite know whether to laugh or wince. She laughed.

“Don’t you dare write me off like this. Better help me get up, goddammit.”

Clutching the knight’s hand, she stood up, fixed her helmet and nodded gratefully to the swarthy warrior. The gray-haired sorcerer with the Dragon ring smiled at her.

“Thanks for the keys. We desperately needed that.”

“I’m glad you made it,” Rami nodded. She reached for another pouch of hers: time was of the essence, and she had to dole out the gifts. She pulled out three full Estus flasks, and the problem became evident: _four_ escapees stood before her. But three was all that she had to spare, so they would have to work around it somehow. “Take these. I only got three. Everybody knows what these are?”

“Most definitely,” the mage nodded. “I assume we all do.”

He made a point of stepping aside as everybody else took a flask. Ramilda gave him a worried look, but he just shook his head with a smile. The bald one drank from his vessel straight away and winced slightly.

“Thank you, knight,” he said with a strong accent.

“What’s your name, my lady?” the wizard inquired.

“Ramilda Swann, knight of Astora, Captain de Plancy’s company.”

“I know your family name,” the tall knight said. “I had a comrade once. His name was Thurmod Swann. Have you heard of him?”

Rami peered into the eyes behind the visor. He has just uttered the name of her father, and her heart skipped a beat. There could be no mistake – a knight from Astora could know no other Thurmod Swann. Yet his voice was so young that Ramilda had doubts whether he could really have known her parent.

“I have, but let’s leave it for later,” she replied. “I see you got your weapons?”

“We have little time,” said the warrior with a tall bow who was watching the gallery outside this entire time. “We have to move, lest we be discovered.”

“Right,” Ramilda nodded. “We gotta get upstairs and take a look around. From what I’ve seen, there’s hardly an easy way out – the demon won’t let us go. And before we deal with him, we gotta kill the guards. If you’re ready, let’s go.”

She walked away, and the archer nodded abruptly. Looking back at her companions, she voiced the last question that had to be asked:

“What are your names?”

They all introduced themselves randomly. The knight was the last one:

“Somerset of Astora.”

All semblance of doubt has vanished. It was him – the knight who died many years ago. Ramilda’s father told her about him when she was still a child. Somerset Leighton. Thurmod fought alongside him when he was young and lay him into a mass grave with his own hands. Now, though, it hardly mattered: they would have time to talk about it all when they get out of the Asylum.

Walking through the gallery, they could see the courtyard with the bonfire down below. Ramilda took point with her shield at the ready, trying to figure rapidly what to expect from her new companions. She had no idea what Xendric was capable of, but they had to keep the old man in the backline in any case. The archer’s behavior smacked of a seasoned warrior – Swann had a feeling she could rely on him. Mendes remained a wildcard, though he looked like a fighter, too, but he was the least armored, not counting the sorcerer. She probably should stay near him and provide cover just in case. Somerset, who was taller than her, was clad in plate armor – he should be able to make it on his own.

They quickly walked up the ladder and through an outer corridor that circled the main building. They then emerged on an open platform overlooking a cliff spangled with ruins – there used to be a chapel with a cemetery.

“I think the demon had jumped from this level,” Xendric remarked.

“Watch out, he was on the roof somewhere.”

No sooner did they turn the corner and got to the center of the platform that they bumped into the guards walking straight at them. Ramilda immediately noticed two archers with two swordsmen in rusty mail by their side – three more were ready to charge them from the side.

“Xendric, stay back!” she exclaimed, stepping forward.

Without ado, Mendes threw both of his axes at the archers. One split the bowman’s skull, killing him instantly, the other missed its mark, and the warrior moved behind Ramilda, readying the heavier pair. Somerset ran forth on her left, getting ahead of everyone.

The hollows didn’t hold back either. One of them tossed a fire bomb, but luckily, it missed entirely, bursting behind the backs of the knights. Ramilda caught a glimpse of an archer aiming at Mendes and moved right, catching the arrow with her shield before she got attacked.

Two guards closed in on Somerset with a flurry of blows. While the knight fended one of them off, the other quickly landed a thrust on the inside of his thigh, unprotected by plate. The Astoran groaned, falling on his knee. A third hollow was already approaching, and the knight would’ve surely perished were it not for Xendric. He ran up to them, slammed his staff into the floor, and a shockwave tossed the hollows back.

As Swann exchanged blows with an opposing swordsman, she glimpsed Katsumoto’s arrow flying past the archer. The hollow shot at Mendes who was fighting the other swordsman, but the arrow ricocheted off his pauldron. Ramilda felt the urge to curse: she couldn’t move past her opponent to get to the overextended Somerset, but realized he was having it bad: the three hollows have already gotten up and ran towards him. She tried to reach the adversary with a riposte, but it glanced off his shield.

Xendric saved the day again. He ran off to the side, weaving a spell unlike any Ramilda has seen before. A large radiant mass formed around the top of the staff and took off, stretching into a huge spearhead. Leaving a trail behind it, the blue spear went clean through the two hollows, scattering luminous dust as it hit. The guards dropped dead. Somerset parried the blow from the third and cut him down.

Stepping back with a parry, Ramilda hacked back and into the enemy’s rapid block again. At this point, Mendes, having just finished his own opponent, flanked the hollow and lopped his head off in one clean strike. Rami nodded at him, and they both rushed forward.

The archer has failed to hit Xendric – the arrow merely made a hole in his mantle. Katsumoto landed a shot under his collarbone, and Mendes granted the final mercy to the hollow.

“Everyone good?” Ramilda called out.

“I’ll be fine,” Somerset replied, taking a swig.

“Try not to overextend like that again. We have to cover each other.”

“I’ll do my best, sister,” the knight nodded, lowering his visor again.

They heard a bang from down below, followed by rumbling steps. They were now at the very same spot where the demon jumped from before and ran for cover immediately. They could hear him pacing the main hall, attracted by the sound of battle. Ryu moved up crouching to his companions and spoke quietly:

“We have to split. There is a way to the courtyard from the side gallery, correct?”

“Yeah,” Ramilda nodded.

“That’s how bad things usually start happening…” Xendric said warily.

“No, he is right,” Rami assured him. “We fight him here – he is going to fly up and drop us down. We can tie him up in melee while you rain spells and arrows on him from up here. Got any bombs?”

“One left,” the samurai whispered.

“Good. Then wait until we get started down there – I’m gonna yell at you. Everyone ready? Let’s go.”

The three of them quickly ran to the gallery and down the stairs into the courtyard. Doors of the main hall were still wide open. Ramilda got in position first and froze at the wall, waiting on the rest. She could hear a low growling coming from the hall – and the Jailer’s heavy steps. Blood was pulsating rapidly in her veins, seethed by the fighting. The knightess hung the shield on her back in order to use both hands for a proper longsword technique; a shield was useless against the large club anyway.

She had fought demons before, but never as large as _this one._ This fight promised to be a true ordeal. Raising her father’s sword, the knight pressed her lips against the pommel. She has long since stopped praying to the gods before combat, but she had no doubt her father’s spirit was always at her side, silent and gentle.

“Wish me luck in the coming battle,” Ramilda whispered. She knit her brows and looked at the others across the shoulder. Mendes and Somerset responded by nodding.

They ran into the hall and faced off against the demon. With a fearsome grin, the Jailer moved towards them.

“Let fly!” Ramilda yelled.

The mage and the samurai emerged from their cover upstairs. A soul spear pierced the demon, fracturing into dust on impact. The Jailer roared in pain. He glanced back for a moment, but Somerset and Ramilda have already closed in. As the demon tried to hit the former, Rami ran up to his leg and hacked away at the tendon with a mighty swing. The blade sank deep, blood splashed, and the demon roared again, stomping – Ramilda barely managed to pull the blade back. The Jailer swung the club across his side, and Ramilda leapt forward, almost into his feet. The demon took off into the air and tried to drop his carcass on the two knights. Rami managed to get away, but Somerset was less lucky and got pinned down underneath a massive leg.

Two axes hit the demon – one connected with a shaft and glanced off, the second barely sank into his thick hide. Another one of Xendric’s spells has only scratched his antlers.

“Hey, meatbag!” Swann yelled. “Come and get me, degenerate!”

The demon turned his head, glaring at the knight with red eyes. Adjusting the sword grip in her hands, she threw herself at him. The Jailer got up, freeing Somerset, and swung his club. As Ramilda prepared to jump, an arrow from the balcony pierced the demon’s cheek. Jerking his head, he struck almost at random, and she easily dodged the baneful cudgel. She rushed towards Somerset and helped him onto his feet.

Mendes performed a leap that could make any athlete jealous and sank his axes into the Jailer’s beefy thigh. It didn’t do much damage, but he drove one of the axes deep enough to hang on it. The demon made a surprisingly frisk jump to the side and swung wildly. Rami narrowly evaded the club, but couldn’t get Somerset out of harm’s way, and the knight took the brunt of the blow. He was thrown straight to the colonnade, bones crushed and armor dented. He hit his spine on the column, letting go of the zweihänder.

Ramilda only hesitated for a second. With no moment to spare, she charged the demon as he staggered from another soul spear and tried to shake off Mendes. He was slightly limping already, and she had to damage the second leg enough to immobilize the spawn of Izalith. Unluckily, the demon moved his leg as she struck, and the blade only left a superficial cut. The Jailer stomped, finally shaking Mendes off. As he stood up, the demon grabbed him and tossed across the hall with a roar. Mendes hit the floor hard and rolled away from the force of impact.

The Jailer didn’t even notice an arrow that sank into his meaty neck. As he was throwing Mendes, Rami used that moment to align the cut. Putting the power of her entire body into it, she delivered a sweeping blow and cut another tendon. Roaring in pain, the demon fell on his bottom – the knight recoiled the second prior. Next moment, the club grazed her side, sweeping her away. The strike was painful, but her bones remained intact. She gasped for air, hobbled to her feet, and barely dodged another swing – stone debris sprayed into her face, scratching her cheek.

Amazingly, Mendes got back up and recovered. He drank a good measure of Estus and charged the demon again. While the immobilized Jailer tried to get Ramilda, Mendes hopped onto his leg, jumped, and plunged his axe into the demon’s chest, inflicting a solid wound.

Much prior to that, when the demon jumped for the last time, he wound up next to the doors, beneath the very aperture where Xendric and Ryu remained. Seeing the Jailer pinned down, Katsumoto unsheathed his sword, approached the ledge and carefully kicked off. He landed on the Jailer’s head and stabbed him right in the nose bridge. The demon howled, shaking his head wildly. The samurai barely managed to cling to him and pulled his sword back. He jumped off to the demon’s shoulder and, with one precise swing, cleaved his artery.

This was the final blow. Blood sprayed profusely on Ryu’s armor. The demon grabbed his own neck and recoiled, swinging his club uselessly. The samurai fell to the floor and rolled to the side with a painful groan. Moaning hoarsely, the Jailer collapsed, dropping his club. As his prisoners surrounded him, he flinched several times, still clinging to life, but didn’t get up again.

Rami approached him warily, staring into the blood-shot eyes of the dying demon. Blood from a fatal wound flowed into a big, dark puddle. He moved faintly, letting out almost a mournful howl, and went still. The Jailer of the Asylum was no more.

Ramilda made sure the demon was dead and rushed over to Somerset. The knight was still moving and even raised his visor. Popping the Estus flask, Rami brought it to her companion’s lips. She helped his hand onto the deep-green glass and poured the living flame into him.

“Drink it down. Go ahead,” Rami said, holding the sacred vessel.

Somerset shut his eyes, wincing, and responded with a weak nod. Soon, the last drop of liquid flames ran down the neck of the flask. With a sigh of relief, the knight whispered a silent “Thank you” with his lips.

“Let me help you with the armor,” Swann said, proceeding to unfasten the straps of his dented cuirass. “Gotta fix that, or else it’s gonna smother you.”

“Is he alright?” Ryu asked her, coming over. His dark-red armor was still covered in blood. Only now she saw the samurai without the mask. His mouth was framed with a circle beard, and the right eye was covered with a black patch.

“He’ll live,” Rami sighed.

“Give me your flask. I’ll pour some of mine into it.”

The knightess hesitated for a second but gave him the vessel. As the samurai took it, she smiled slightly, looking him in the eye, and nodded in appreciation. Katsumoto returned the gesture with some restraint.

Ramilda wiped the blood off her blade and sheathed it. She then took a hefty stone to at least try and straighten out the dent; a proper hammer would do much better, but right now she had to improvise. She noticed how Mendes approached the slain demon, stretched a hand out towards his, and concentrated. Moments later, a flaming orb appeared above the Jailer’s open hand, and the warrior took it slowly, seemingly paying no mind to the heat. Ramilda has seen such flame before: Mendes turned out to be a true pyromancer. It looked like the demon took his magic flame when he was presented to him. This fire lived within the pyromancers and was passed down from teacher to student through a special ritual that they called Sharing the Flame. There probably was no place aside from the Great Swamps where one could learn to wield this flame. This tradition has firmly taken root in that land; in the more “civilized” countries, pyromancy was considered heresy, at best. Mendes slowly clenched his fist and extinguished the flame, returning it to where it belonged.

As Ramilda battered the breastplate, fixing the dent, Somerset took off his helmet and walked off. He returned a minute later; in his hands was a coiled sword from the bonfire wrapped in a thick rag. Still candent, it burnt even through the rag and the gloves: the knight hissed through his teeth. Xendric, who just came down, watched him with astonishment. Right in front of everybody, Somerset walked up to the demon and thrust the coiled sword right in his eye. Ramilda flinched.

“What was that for?” she asked, getting up on her feet.

“For all those who died here,” Somerset spat out, his face twisted with anger. “A rightful retribution for their suffering.”

Ramilda couldn’t find the words. She knew perfectly well that countless souls had perished within these walls, but to her, what Somerset did was an act of brutality – and absolutely senseless at that. She has seen a lot of senseless brutality for the past seven years, even among her brothers in the Order, but this was very unlike the Somerset that her father told her about. But many things could have changed in thirty years. This knight was buried without his comrades knowing that he turned undead, and only gods could know what he had to go through over these years. How he got out of the mass grave and how he wound up here still remained in question. Bur right now was neither the time nor the place. Rami sighed deeply.

“I fixed the cuirass,” she said coldly. “Let me help you don it.”

Somerset looked at the demon hatefully and came over to Ramilda. As she helped him with the armor, she noticed a soul mass seeping out slowly from the demon’s carcass, now hovering just above the ground. It was a bright glowing orb, not unlike a white flame. But just near it there was something that drew her attention. Ramilda fastened the last strap on the cuirass and moved closer, staring at what she has just spotted. It was a familiar pitch-black sprite resembling a human figure. Swann vividly recalled the feeling she had that one time, when bonfire’s magic wiped all traces of hollowing off her face.

Xendric came over and stared at it too. Rami turned her head towards the sorcerer.

“He had humanity in him. How come?”

The mage chuckled slightly.

“Do you know your history, my lady? You must know where this demon came from.”

“Izalith.”

“Correct. Then, one should remember that not all demons were _born _by Chaos. When Izalith fell, most of its inhabitants still remained there,” Xendric nodded at the demon. “He was a human once. One of those who witnessed the birth of Chaos. I wonder who he was in _that_ life. Maybe he was a jailer back then, too. Old habits… die hard.”

Ramilda shivered. She tried not to let on, but she was deeply moved by these words. She was fully aware that this creature was a cruel, merciless monster. He ruined hundreds of lives, maybe thousands. But in a bizarre twist, what Xendric said made her almost feel sorry for the dead demon.

Almost.

“Time to go,” Ramilda stated, snapping out of it. “The second demon will soon realize what happened, and we better not run into him. He’s far worse, from what I’ve heard. Xendric, can you collect all this? We might need it later.”

“Of course,” the sorcerer replied, bending over the lumps. It looked like he had enough time to learn manipulating them since he became undead. He pulled two bulbous vials out of his shoulder bag, drew the precious load inside and sealed it.

“What now?” Ryu asked.

“Follow me,” Ramilda said, pointing at the doors that led outside.

“Where are you headed now?” the samurai voiced the question everyone must’ve had.

“My journey takes me to Lordran. If this is not the path you wish to take, now is your last chance to go on your way. But I can assure you: you will not find your peace anywhere.”

“Lordran, then,” Ryu dragged pointedly, arms crossed. “I heard many rumors about it. Is it true that it was the first to succumb to the Curse? And that the key to understanding that Curse also lies there?”

“I don’t know. But if the key exists, I intend to find it.”

“Then I will join your quest,” for the first time, he gave her a weak smile. “This legend is pretty amusing, and my goal implies going to Lordran anyway. As for the others, let them decide for themselves.”

“A key or not a key, I’m with you,” Mendes stepped forward. “I bet I can find many worthy opponents there.”

“I’m with you, sister,” Somerset said. “Helping you is my sacred duty.”

“What a commendable zeal,” Xendric sighed. “But you’re right, we have little choice. I myself wanted to get there – got to restore my memory and all. We’ll have a bigger chance of survival if we stick together.”

Swann looked over her new companions and nodded with satisfaction. It seemed like her mission bore fruit for the first time.

“Let’s go then.”

They collected their things in a hurry and threw open the doors. Ramilda led them straight to the long cliff. Cold mountain wind blew in their face. The grass was spangled with melting snow here and there. Ramilda picked up the bag with a woolen blanket attached that she left by a leaning tombstone and strapped it across the shoulder, underneath the shield.

“The descent is the other way,” Xendric pointed out.

“Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

They walked up, between the crumbled stone walls, and wound up on a narrow crag hanging over the precipice. Far below them was a mountain valley crossed by a blue river. Thunder was rumbling in the distance. Ramilda pulled out a piece of red cloth and raised it above her head. Soon, she could distinguish a familiar silhouette against the backdrop of colossal peaks. A giant black crow approached them. The one who brought her here and now will take them all towards the final reach.

“Stand as close to each other as you can,” she said.

“Are my eyes deceiving me?” Xendric asked, stepping closer. “Is this not a messenger of Velka in the flesh?”

Ramilda nodded. The mage seemed a very well-read person. It was no wonder he recognized the messenger of an enigmatic goddess.

“Hold fast. It won’t be pleasant.”

The crow descended and, for a moment, disappeared behind the crag. Then, with a loud scream, it emerged right in front of them, spreading its gigantic wings.

A chilling gust of wind hit their faces, and for a brief moment it seemed like time itself froze. Small and almost helpless, the humans stood before the gargantuan bird, breathless before its ominous majesty. Before they knew it, the crow snatched all five with its clawed hands and carried them away.

Wind whistled violently in the ears. Clutching to the bird’s arm, Ramilda found the courage to look back. The Asylum remained behind. There, beyond the distant mountains, the lost kingdom of the gods awaited. A place where it all began and where it all will return to.

Lordran.

***

No one could tell how long this flight lasted. All that was left were the biting cold and the piercing, unbearable wind. Occasionally, Ramilda would gaze down: her heart sopped racing every time she dared to look, like it happened the first time. The view from up here was beautiful. Clouds sailed underneath, concealing the ground.

Soon, the air seemingly became warmer. A mountain ridge could be seen ahead. As they drew near, Ramilda took a closer look and held her breath. Between the high peaks and mountain spurs stood walls and towers of gigantic proportions. She had never seen an architecture this monumental – she doubted that human hands were even capable of building this without magic involved. It looked as if mythical titans had erected these walls and carved ledges and plateaus in the mountains. Large cities sprawled beneath, in the valleys, encircled with gigantic walls, though the rest of the buildings seemed to be of ordinary size. Several towns and fortresses were crammed on top of the high rocks, connected by the stone viaducts. And on the highest mountain of all, stood the city of cities. The summit was roughly on their level now, and Rami could discern tall glittering spires behind the gargantuan walls. She knew what city it was – she saw it on engravings from the books she read a thousand times. Above the reaches of Lordran, like on a mountain throne, sat the legendary Anor Londo.

The crow started descending, and the mythical spires disappeared from view. The bird glided into the space between two mountains. To their right, on a lower plateau, stood a stretched-out town encircled by the monumental walls rising right by the steep drop. The mountain on the left was taller, with a regular-sized fortress dominating the top – within its walls they could see a large tower with a dome. The ravine between the mountains went so deep that they couldn’t see the bottom. Only a large bridge connected the two cliffs, running above the town to the fortress towers on the other side. The crow set its sights on an enormous tree that grew right from the side of the mountain on their left, its lush crown hiding something from view.

As the bird descended, an aqueduct that ran across the chasm to the town came into view. And down there, underneath the huge green blanket, was a flat cliff protruding from the side of the mountain. It was covered with ancient ruins – and the crow intended to land there.

“Get ready!” Ramilda shouted.

The black bird veered, diving towards the cliff, hovered just above the ground and released the pilgrims. Five companions fell down, the crow flapped its wings and flew off towards the gigantic tree. As the pilgrims recovered, they stood up and spread their shoulders, beholding a new land. Right in front of them, hummed the beckoning flames of a bonfire.

They found themselves in a ruined rotunda at the edge of the cliff. Now, only the moss-covered segments of walls with empty apertures remained. Even the stone floor was barely visible underneath the green. A circular recess lined with steps was located in the center – a space for the bonfire. Near the rotunda was a long-abandoned well.

To their side, on a slight elevation, stood an ivy-clad dilapidated church. A round bell tower rose over the crumbled walls, half-collapsed. The only part of the structure that more or less survived was an annex right by the mountainside – even the roof partially remained intact. It looked like all these ruins used to be a single temple compound: arched passageways and steps cut in stone were still there.

Grass covered the entire cliff, and it seemed like the sands of time had ceased their flow in this place long ago. Yet, unlike in the gloomy windswept Asylum, there was a strange, calming sense of warmth to this place, and the bonfire in the rotunda was as welcoming as a fireplace at home.

Just as the companions took in the surroundings, they heard steps nearby, and Rami put her hand on a sword hilt. In an arch to their right, a man appeared. Short brown hair, fresh stubble, eyes squinting slightly. He wore a mail shirt, and a scabbard with an arming sword was attached to his belt, but the man was relaxed. His face only bore slight traces of hollowing – not unlike those that Ramilda had right after she turned. Leaning against the wall, he looked at his guests in a not-so-welcoming manner and spoke in a tired high-pitched voice.

“So, what have we here? Are you the new arrivals?”

“Greetings,” Ramilda nodded slowly, taking her fingers off the hilt. “Yes, you got it right.”

The stranger sighed.

“Another shipment of driftwood from the Asylum. Took them quite some time.”

“My name is Ramilda. What’s yours?”

“Pfft, as if it matters,” he waved dismissively, a sad smile on his face, and walked to a stone bench not far from the bonfire. He flopped on it and gazed at the pilgrims again. “Better I stay incognito. It’s gonna be easier for you this way.”

“As you wish. Can we sit by the bonfire?”

“By all means, be my guests, you’re welcome,” he said as he gestured actively.

The knight nodded and proceeded to the bonfire with the others. Sick of the helmet, she undid the chinstrap, took it off and shook her red ponytail. Putting her gear aside, she sat at the bonfire and stared at the man. She could feel some exhaustion about him, both in his voice and mannerisms, as if he lacked any semblance of interest.

“Where are we?” Ramilda asked.

“This is the Firelink Shrine. Or, at least, what’s left of it. Let me guess: the Prophecy of the Undead, correct? You’re destined to ring the ‘Bells of Awakening’, which is when you’re supposed to learn the fate of the undead, that sounds about right?”

“You can think of a better course of action?” Xendric smiled, sitting down opposite him. “You suggest we sit in one place and do nothing?”

“Oh…” he shook his head grievously. “If my opinion does interest you, I think it’s all useless. You’d be better off if you stayed in the Asylum and resigned to your fate.”

“If I may ask, how exactly did you come to this conclusion?”

“Oh, how many wonderful discoveries still await you,” a sardonic smile appeared on his face. “Ah, what’s the difference. You won’t understand, not unless you see it on your own.”

“And what if it’s our destiny?” Somerset asked, a challenge in his voice. “To find the answers and lift the Curse?”

“Hahahaha… You seem to be making a mockery out of it, sir!”

“Ah, don’t listen to him,” the sorcerer waved dismissively, taking the initiative again. “I’m still interested to hear about your experience.”

“My experience is such that it’s no use to attempt anything here… whether in a group or on your own. I tried, believe me. The Asylum is one hell of a leper colony, but this – this is simply a mass tomb. But oh well, since you’re here, so be it, what am I going to lose? I’ll tell you what I know,” his sarcasm was seeping through. “Maybe, miraculously, _you_ will be able to achieve something! Though, to be honest, looking at you, I’m less and less sure of it. The prophecy that you must’ve heard many times now… It’s not exactly lying,” the stranger twisted his lips and shrugged. “There are two bells. One is up there, in the cathedral,” he pointed upwards, to the fortress on top of the mountain that loomed over them. “There used to be a lift to the cathedral right here, but it’s long since broken. The other bell is below, in Blighttown. But in order to get there, one must face so many horrors that I would better stay out of it… if I were you.”

“What can we encounter there?” Ramilda asked.

“Oh, nothing good, believe me. I’ll leave these discoveries up to you, seeing how you’re so brave. You can take on any danger, right? So what’s the point, really, spilling my guts here?

“No disrespect to you, but it looks like you’ve mastered the skill of scoffing pretty damn well.”

“Ah, my apologies, where are my manners…?”

“So what kind of danger is out there?”

With a sigh, the man bowed his head abruptly and then looked at the knight again.

“Hollows. Cursed dogs. Giant rats, if you venture into the sewers over there, in the town. There’s also a local curiosity – a red wyvern that the locals call a dragon, simpletons that they are. Nests somewhere on the bridge over the chasm and goes hunting from time to time.”

“Locals? Are there civilians still?”

“Indeed. Don’t expect a warm welcome though. They are generally just as dangerous as hollows. If not worse… Everybody’s touched by the Curse in one way or another. No exceptions, as far as I know. In any case, ring the bells, and then maybe something will happen… Otherwise… You will have to endure boring, monotonous days with no roof over your head – and with the red phantoms, for sure.”

“Phantoms?” Ramilda raised her eyebrow.

“Oh yes. These lads just can’t give you a break. As far as I’m concerned, they’re just brigands. What they do is hunting for humanity – they’ve got some magical artifacts that allow them to transform into… well… specters of sorts. In this state, they can appear randomly near someone who’s still not completely hollowed and siphon their humanity. I have no idea where they got them. It seems it is only human to covet thy neighbor! But for some reason, they cannot invade here. Must be some old magic, I suspect.”

“Are they operating in isolation or do they have any… structure? Who is behind this?”

“There are lone wolves of course, but some attack in groups. No idea if anyone’s in command of this circus. But they have a sort of… covenant, let’s put it like this. So be advised. Aside from that…” he spread his hands and smiled in earnest for the first time. “Suit yourselves. Who am I to dissuade you? As long as this bonfire burns, make yourselves at home.”

“You still haven’t introduced yourself, by the way,” Xendric noted.

The stranger didn’t respond for a few seconds.

“That… is of no concern to anybody now. And it shouldn’t concern you, either. I’m simply… Crestfallen. Nothing else.”

“His spirit is already broken, can’t you see?” Katsumoto said.

“You know, after I’ve been here awhile, I’ve realized, more than ever, what a tremendous hogwash all these prophecies are. The gods have failed, and now they suggest we humans do it on our own. Ha, you must take me for a fool. There’s no future for us here.”

“Huh, where is, in that case?” Xendric mused.

“You only say that because you were too weak to ring the bells, don’t you?” the samurai asked.

The wistful smile didn’t fade from the Crestfallen’s face. He didn’t react to this attack.

“Even if that’s the case, what of it then? You are free to believe whatever you want to believe.”

“So what’s next?” Somerset asked. “What is your purpose in life? Aren’t you afraid to lose your sanity?”

“As I said… we may yet envy the lot of those who remained in the Asylum.”

“Well, we shall see about that,” Xendric said, getting up from the bench, all businesslike, and turned towards his companions. “Meanwhile, I suppose, we shall accommodate ourselves somehow.”

“Yeah,” Ramilda nodded in agreement and stood up as well. “Gotta figure something out with the shelter if we want to sleep out here.”

“I’ll go and take a look around,” Somerset said. He walked to a spiral stairway leading down – there must’ve been a smaller ledge below the rotunda. Meanwhile, Xendric looked pensively at the giant crow perched in a nest atop of a crumbled bell tower.

“I wonder, how long have you known the messenger?” he asked Ramilda.

“Only met her recently. But I’ve already come to love her black feathers.”

“How did you even get to us? It must be a fascinating story.”

Swann smiled, looking down.

“Suffice to say that when I died and rose with a Darksign, I traveled north with a mission from my Order. Prophecy or not, I still want to find out how to lift the Curse. Who knows, maybe if I’m lucky, I will find salvation,” she looked back at Xendric. “During my travels, I met a Fire Keeper who helped me tremendously. She explained how humanity affects us, how to reverse hollowing… Presented me with this Estus flask here. Her name was Ælswith. And then she introduced me to the crow after it landed on top of her tower. And that’s how it went down.”

The sorcerer nodded.

“But how did you know there was going to be somebody in the Asylum that you could rescue? Somebody sane?”

“I didn’t,” Rami looked him in the eye. “I decided to take a look for myself. The Prophecy says, of course, that the ‘chosen pilgrim’ will travel to Lordran from the Asylum, so I… was going to get there anyway. Though I had no intention of rotting in a cell. But I would’ve been the dirtiest of scoundrels had I not tried to save at least one living soul.”

“And for that I am very grateful to you.”

“No need. I did what I had to.”

“Did you know about the Jailer?” Katsumoto asked.

“Yes, the Keeper told me of him – and of the Executioner, too. We were lucky that he didn’t come out,” she smiled slightly.

Now, they only had to do the most important thing. Rami approached the bonfire, reaching for the coiled sword, and felt a familiar surge of heat as she bound herself to it. The rest followed suit. Now, this bonfire became their square one.

Swann has been up on her feet since dawn and already felt tired. But as always, before she could relax, she had to proverbially kick herself to set up camp first.

“Alright, we gotta fix this place up. We got no roof here, and as soon as it rains, there goes our armor. There are some small trees over there in the ruins – let’s cut them down and make some planks. Anyone here can carve wood…?”

She looked over the rest and found no answer.

“I am of little help in things like these,” Xendric sighed. “Not as strong as I used to be, not to mention I’m not too good with my hands.”

“Maybe someone can smith?”

“Kind of,” Mendes raised his hand.

“I can,” Ryu said. “But without instruments…”

“Alright, let’s do it like this: we’ll take whatever we can find – metal, stones, wood… We have to construct a pulley for the well to take water from it. Can you help me make a pail if we find enough metal for the braces?”

“I think so,” the samurai nodded.

“Great. Then we’ll have to haul stones from the church and make a shelter from the wind when we have some planks. If we could make a shovel, we could dig some turf for the roof…”

“Go ask the people over there, in the annex,” the Crestfallen perked up. “They have some instruments with them.”

“There are others?” Ramilda asked, surprised.

“Oh yes. Arrived right before you did. Must be the only “others” in the vicinity – they’re not undead. They are from the Way of White. A fat cleric and his skinny servant, just like in that humoresque… Talk to the cleric. Maybe you could butter him up.”

Rami exchanged glances with Xendric. Out of the group, he was the likeliest candidate for negotiations.

“Shall we?”

“With pleasure.”

“Then I’ll go and find something we can use,” Mendes said, clapping his hands, then jumped to his feet and gave the samurai a slug on the shoulder. “Let’s go, Ryu.”

“My friends!” Somerset sprang up and gestured downwards. “Come with me first. I think you should see this.”

As they went down the ladder, they did end up on a small, cramped ledge lined with crumbled masonry on the brink. Far below, they could see the bottom of the chasm covered with strange brown haze, and some buildings. The exit from the ravine was blocked with a segment of a circular wall they saw earlier, enclosing an abandoned city in the valley outside. But something entirely different held their attention.

There was a small cavern carved within the rock and sealed with rusty metal bars. Inside, sat a beautiful young woman in a long dingy dress of grayish-blue color with golden embroidery along the edges. She also wore a shoulder cape of greenish-gray with a hood. Blonde hair was put in a bun, with several strands hanging loose in front. She simply sat there, head bowed, paying no attention to the new arrivals. Ramilda had a hunch: she was the shrine’s Fire Keeper. But why was she behind bars…?

“I beg your pardon,” Katsumoto said, stepping closer. “Who are you?”

“Are you the Fire Keeper?” Ramilda added, kneeling before the bars.

The woman raised her head and gave them a long, helpless, and distant look. She sat motionless for several moments, then pointed at her mouth and shook her head.

“You cannot speak?” Ryu inquired.

She confirmed.

“Can you write?”

Head shaking again.

“Do you have a name?” Ramilda asked, gathering her thoughts. “That man above, does he know it?”

The woman turned to her, and Ramilda noticed how sad her expression was. Piercing-blue eyes peered into her soul, and the knight felt a lump in her throat. It was as if the Keeper examined her, trying to discern whether she could trust this person. Ramilda had a clue of what this look concealed: she has seen people like this before. The unlucky ones resigned to their fate, for whom their every waking moment was an endless nightmare filled with nothing but hopelessness and despair. In the end, the Fire Keeper nodded.

“Mendes, go ask that fellow what her name is.”

The warrior nodded and ran upstairs. Ramilda tried to keep talking:

“How did you end up here? Did they… force you to?”

Several moments passed, and the Keeper nodded without breaking the eye contact.

“Can we help you?”

“Was it the Church that imprisoned you?” Somerset asked.

Rami looked back at him abruptly and silently mouthed the words: “Lay off”. Reminding the captives and victims of abuse of their captors was the last thing they could do in situations like this. The woman didn’t react to this question, except for looking at the taller knight.

“The one who imprisoned you – is he around? Just you tell me, I’m going to find him and…”

“Somerset!” Rami shushed quietly. “Not now.”

“Anastacia,” Mendes announced as he returned.

Swann turned to the mute Keeper again and drew her attention.

“Anastacia? Your name is Anastacia?”

The woman nodded eagerly with a light shiver, and suddenly, a faint smile appeared on her face. It was the first instance when someone called her by name in a long time.

“My name is Ramilda,” the knightess smiled back. “Thank you for keeping the flames alive. Tell me, should we… get you out of here?”

Her facial expression changed. Looking Ramilda straight in the eye, she shook her head violently, as if the very thought of freedom horrified her. Her entire figure huddled a little. At first, Rami was at a loss. She took off her glove, then carefully reached through the gap and gently touched Anastacia’s shoulder. She didn’t move.

“Don’t be afraid. We won’t hurt you. If for some reason you must remain here…”

The Keeper nodded, her lips in a flat line.

“Alright. If there is anything we can help you with… let us know. I’ll come visit.”

Anastacia touched Ramilda’s warm hand. She squeezed it, looking at the knightess intently for several moments. Then, closing her eyes, she let go and moved deeper into the cavern, into the shade. She huddled up, locking her arms around the knees, and buried her face in them, hiding the eyes.

Rami almost wanted to cry from her impotence. With a deep sigh, she clenched her fist and calmed herself with a mental command: now was not the time. She stood up silently and proceeded upstairs.

“A morose lass, isn’t she?” the Crestfallen said as they came back. “What a pitiful sight. And she is the sole reason this bonfire is burning.”

“And why is she behind bars?” Xendric asked.

“No idea,” the man sighed. “I suspect she was imprisoned by the fellows of those esteemed gentlemen in the ruins when she was brought here. Go ask them, maybe they’re going to tell you her sad story.”

“About time,” Rami said grimly.

The companions separated. As soon as they left the rotunda, they saw a short man hauling a sack towards the annex. He had brown mid-length hair, a red pillbox hat, and a big shoulder cape with a hood. The surcoat of the same color, worn over a mail shirt, bore a white circle – the emblem of the Church. Judging by the color of his garments, he was a military servant, not a member of the clergy. He stopped for a moment and gave the pilgrims a long, suspicious look. His facial expression was quite unwelcoming.

“Good afternoon,” Ramilda spoke, greeting the man with a hand gesture. “Are you the representatives of the White Church? We need to talk.”

The retainer stared at them for a moment more, then simply gestured at the archway he was headed towards and walked on. Rami and Xendric followed, entering the annex. A staircase on the side, it seemed, went straight up into the rock. They found two people inside: the skinny retainer helped a corpulent cleric out of his armor – a steel breastplate was a bit too small for him. He looked about fifty, his yellow hair in a distinctive bowl cut, and the white embroidered tunic he used as an under armor indicated his affiliation clearly. Noticing the guests, the cleric smiled and bowed his head politely as his retainer was belting him.

“Ah, new visitors of the Shrine, I presume,” he said in a pleasant, velvety voice. “Nice to meet you.”

“Greetings. Ramilda Swann, knight of Astora.”

“Xendric, at your service.”

“A pleasure,” the cleric nodded with a smile, tucking a mace under his belt. “Petrus of Thorolund, a priest and a humble servant of Allfather Lloyd and Gwyn the Lightbringer. You wish to speak with me?”

“If you don’t mind,” Xendric said. “Did we interrupt you?”

“Why, not at all. I have to brighten up my wait somehow – why not in your company? Please, come over. Osric, do make up something for our guests.”

The retainer silently unfolded two felt mats, and Petrus perched on one of them, offering Rami and Xendric to sit opposite him.

“Forgive me for this tactless question, but how on earth did you end up in this sullen place?” the sorcerer asked, smiling with his lips.

“By the will of the White Church, of course,” said Petrus with the same tactful smile, tilting his head. “I moved out in advance and now I await my companions who must be arriving any day now. We have a mission, but I’m afraid I cannot discuss the details – you understand, I hope.”

“A pity,” Xendric nodded. “It would be such a pleasure to engage in a positive conversation with a member of the clergy.”

“Well, what exactly prevents us from doing that?” Petrus laughed wryly. “Perhaps we should start with asking what brought _you_ here? I have a hunch, but I reckon it would be more polite to let you tell the tale. I suspect you have an intriguing story to tell.”

Ramilda kept glancing at the retainer who was busy unpacking their belongings. Aside from an arming sword in a scabbard on his belt, he had a war hammer with a narrow spike and a dagger in his boot. Just near him lay a loaded crossbow. He was no mere servant and knew his trade well: he never fully turned his back on the visitors and kept them in sight. Rami accidentally met his eyes and turned away towards the cleric.

“I’m afraid our story is the spitting image of all others,” Xendric said. “Maybe with one exception: we managed to kill the Jailer Demon of the Asylum.”

“Oh, I heard of that monster, I did. I suppose I should be happy that it is now dead.”

The cleric omitted the topic of the Asylum entirely, it seemed. Unsurprisingly: the whole idea of a ‘leprosorium’ for the undead was the Way of White’s design, and he was likely one of those who knew of its true purpose. Ramilda did not intend to touch upon the issue: they all understood each other perfectly well, and right now, the party needed allies, not enemies.

“Tell me, how long were you here?” Xendric asked.

“Just arrived today.”

“Ah, not much longer than us then. I sincerely hoped someone could unveil the mystery of the imprisoned Fire Keeper for me…”

“Ah, Anastacia,” Petrus dragged knowingly. “Poor girl. Luckily, her story is known to me. She was found in a _very_ remote village in Astora – somewhere in an obscure frontier province with very hidebound traditions. Some might even say barbaric. You know, despite being a faithful servant of the Way of White, I have to admit that sometimes, people’s faith can go too far. That village was inhabited by lunatics of a very unflattering sort. From what I heard from the people who’ve been there, Anastacia was a very unusual girl since childhood. And beautiful, I must add, and hidebound people always give the stink eye to beauty. They must have believed she possessed some magical powers, and she was groomed to be a local priestess. If the story is true, they cut out her tongue so that she wouldn’t dare say any god’s name in vain.”

“Fanaticism,” Xendric shook his head. “Never a good thing. A sad story.”

“I agree. Ironically, they suspected right – she does have the power. Which is why she was made a Fire Keeper. And the bars, well, they are, quite frankly… a simple precaution. There was no telling whether the girl would take her own life or run off at the first opportunity. And this bonfire must stay lit no matter what.”

“Is this shrine important to you for some reason?” Ramilda asked.

“Absolutely. It is an important hub for those of us who embark on expeditions to Lordran – arguably the only safe haven in these parts.”

“Pilgrimage, you meant to say?” Xendric asked. “A pity you are not allowed to disclose the details.”

Ramilda glanced at him sideways. The mage must’ve been aware that the Way of White was occasionally sending expeditions to Lordran with a ‘holy mission,’ but he probably wanted to tackle the issue carefully, so as not to antagonize the cleric. It looked like the priest knew right away what the sorcerer was hinting at.

“Hm,” Petrus smiled politely. “If that’s how you wish to name it, then why not. However… If you were to show me a token of faith…” he raised his eyebrows slyly. “And prove that you are a true friend of the Church… who knows, maybe this humble servant of the Way of White could tell you more. It is faith, in the end, that guides us along the path of the righteous.”

Osric pretended to be hard at work polishing the armor. Xendric smiled.

“I would gladly do anything to prove our good intentions,” he assured the cleric, pressing a palm against his heart. “But I’m afraid I don’t quite know what could be an appropriate token of faith and make your soul happy at the moment.”

“My soul?” Petrus chuckled. “Maybe a pleasant evening spent in good company. You must know that these days the glitter of gold means nothing here, in Lordran. After living through great calamities, people finally realized what is truly valuable. A soul, as you astutely put it.”

“Well, I understand,” the sorcerer said and looked at Ramilda. She nodded hesitantly with a subtle shrug. Xendric reached into his bag and pulled out two vials, one of them containing the big, concentrated soul mass that they took from the demon. He moved his fingers smoothly, pulling a considerable part of it and placing it into an empty vial that he then gave to Petrus. “I’m afraid this is all I can offer. We can only take from ourselves, but not from our companions.”

“Oh, a token of good will, I see?” the cleric smiled slightly, taking the gift. “Always appreciated. Well, you gave me something of your own, and I will provide in turn.”

Petrus cleared his throat and hid the vial. He leaned forward a little bit and spoke quieter than usual:

“My assignment in this god-forsaken land is to accompany M’lady Reah of noble house Columna. My companions whom I await in this humble abode are the M’lady herself and two battle brothers. They are her classmates and have volunteered to accompany her. M’lady is young, but quite talented. She is burdened by the Undead Curse, and we are her defenses. Our mission here is to perform the rite of Kindling, and for that, we must first obtain the needed components. We kindle the Flame so that it could burn even brighter,” he straightened up, continuing in his usual voice. “In turn, all those who live in Lordran and beyond benefit from it. One day, through this rite, we shall be granted magnificent powers.”

“I understand,” Xendric nodded. “Quite a noble goal. Besides, I suppose the young lady herself believes it to be her sacred duty? It means a great deal to a Way of White apprentice.”

“Precisely. I’m glad that we have an understanding.”

“Likewise, certainly. It is a pleasure to have such an amiable conversation. By the way, I don’t suppose you could help us out?” he glanced at Ramilda. “My companion here can tell you more.”

“Oh? Are you in need of something?” the cleric looked at Rami. She cleared her throat and nodded.

“Yes, we do have a small favor to ask. We intend to settle down here – maybe for a long time, and for that, we need shelter from wind and rain. Unfortunately, we don’t have any instruments. If you happen to have a shovel, a hatchet or a hacksaw, a hammer, some nails, and… maybe some rope, I must ask to borrow them for a short time. We will return the instruments. Aside from the rope and the nails, naturally, if you agree.”

“Most definitely. You have already presented yourself in a positive light, so I see no reason to deny you. Osric! Hurry up and bring Lady Ramilda what she asked for.”

“Yes, milord,” the servant replied, and went to rummage through the bags. He found all the instruments they needed and brought them before the knight.

“Thank you.”

Osric didn’t respond. His expression remained extremely serious, and he returned to his duties. Ramilda stood up and grabbed the instruments and a pouch of nails.

“You have my thanks. If you excuse me, I shall leave you now: I have to get to work. It was nice to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise, milady,” Petrus smiled with a nod. “Vereor nox.”

Ramilda looked at Xendric and asked him with a gesture if he was going to stay and talk. He nodded shortly, and Ramilda left him in the cleric’s company: two educated men have found a kindred spirit in each other and now could wag their tongues all through the night. Besides, the sorcerer had a chance of prying something else from Petrus. She, on the other hand, had a job to do.

All four warriors got rid of their armor and started working. Mendes found several pieces of iron and an old helmet with a hole in it and tried to conjure a bucket out of it, sitting by the bonfire. The rest cut down a couple of dry trees that grew amidst the ruins and began butchering them for planks, beams, and poles. For lack of a plane, they had to use hatchets, but Ramilda was used to doing this: a childhood spent on a family farm had its perks. She unconsciously remembered those happy days when her father and she constructed an entire treehouse on a lonely oak that stood in the fields not far from their home. This ‘castle,’ as they called it, became her first private abode, though sometimes she let her parents inside, and they used to read stories of heroes of bygone days. She could always find shelter in there whenever there was a bad weather in her soul and she desperately needed to be left alone.

Every time, she anxiously awaited her father’s return from his campaigns and other departures. To her, he was the first fencing teacher and the greatest friend. Sometimes he stayed for long, but way more often his visits were short – at times, very short. A knight’s duty called on him, especially when he became one of the Order’s commanders. Rami was sometimes mad at him for that, though as the years went by, she realized how important these departures were. She used to get upset, just like her mother Avelyn, who could never get enough time with her beloved. All this sent certain fractures through the painting of their happy life. But the three of them always figured out a way to settle their differences and remain friends, no matter how hard it was. Their tiny family had an insanely durable bond. And because of that, their world simply collapsed in an instant when Thurmod was gone.

“You’re good at it,” Somerset noted as he worked nearby with a second hatchet. He did it much slower and cruder.

“Even it up over there,” she gestured at a pole, “Gotta make the point longer so that it goes firmly into the ground.”

“On it.”

“If I may ask, Somerset…” she blew wooden shavings off a plank. “What’s your family name?”

The knight paused before answering.

“I will tell you, but why the question?”

“It’s just that… my father told me once of this knight named Somerset. He served with him when he was young. Long ago, before I was born. When you said the name Thurmod… Well, that was my father’s name.”

“Well… My family name is Leighton.”

“Yeah. So that means you are that Somerset. Father told me you died in battle on the border while protecting your own. That they buried you along with others who had fallen.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Thirty years have passed.”

“Was it back then that you turned undead? How did you survive all these years?”

“I don’t even know. I died several times and almost went mad before I got out of the grave. And then I wandered the forests of the frontier aimlessly for years, on the brink of madness. I almost hollowed and barely realized what was happening. Had almost no memory of myself. It felt almost like an endless nightmare. Perhaps… I kept going only on my will to live. In time, I was lucky enough to come upon ample humanity. My mind came back to me, and in time, I managed to restore some more. But I still can’t remember many things. It’s almost like… in a thick haze.”

“I see. So, what drives you now?”

“I wish to rid people of the Curse. You see, as far as I understand it, the Curse is like a plague, a sickness. And it makes me sad to see people infected by it.”

“I can understand that,” Ramilda nodded. “They are still people. But they’re persecuted everywhere like it is their fault.”

“True. And it’s not as much about me as it is about these people. I am ready to suffer this sickness as much as I need to if I can put an end to all suffering and misery that comes with the Curse. So I want to find a remedy.”

“And? Were you able to discover anything in that regard?”

“Hardly. I very much hope we can find the answers here. Nonsense or not, we have to verify this prophecy.”

“Verify the prophecy,” Rami smiled. “Sounds good. So we must be a short step from scholars of Vinheim, right?”

The knight didn’t react to this joke, keeping a straight face. Ramilda sighed and reached for a flask of water.

“Want a drink?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Somerset went for a swig. “In my experience, tenacity can get you far. And no need to be afraid of hardships. Even if it seems like it’s all in vain.”

Rami nodded in agreement: these words sounded in unison with her own creed.

“I agree with that. Back in the day, I ran away from home to become a knight. Even though my entire kin tried to tell me different. They even tried to lock me up,” she laughed. “My parents understood me, but they were gone by that time.”

“Did Thurmod die?”

“Yes,” Ramilda looked away, squinting from sunlight, “Mama was gone soon after. Couldn’t bear it. That hag of an aunt was my only close kin – they made her my warden since I was only sixteen. But to her, I was nothing but a card to play. Wanted to play matchmaker and dump me on that noble prick. And I just up and ran,” she looked at Somerset again. “When father was still alive, we were very close. In large part, it was thanks to him that I… got infected with a dream, yeah. Always wanted to be like him.”

“You still have time.”

“Yeah, time,” she sighed. “Fat chance. With that Darksign, no way they’ll be taking me back. You know, I’m thankful that at least Captain de Plancy and some of the guys stayed by my side and saved me from… rotting in some dank cellar.”

“Call me a dreamer, but I believe we will lift the Curse, and you will be able to get back in the roster.”

Rami smiled wistfully, looking away.

“We are all dreamers. One way or another. What do _you_ plan to do when you’re cured? Or is the Order not for you anymore?”

“No, please don’t think that I renounced its values. It’s just that… too much time has passed.”

Ramilda looked her companion in the eye again.

“Blue and Gold is forever. Don’t you dare give up. I reckon, us, the dreamers, are better than those who say that it’s all in vain.”

“I suppose,” the knight laughed for once. “As long as our companions think the same. So that they don’t become like that one who sits idle by the bonfire.”

“You know, I can’t blame him. I understand him to some extent. When I sat in a cell for almost a month, I almost despaired, too. Only… to sit idly and do nothing is not for me. It’s killing me. That Fire Keeper Ælswith told me that some can die a hundred times and still persist. Never giving up. And for some – they die a second time, and that’s it.”

She paused, gathering her thoughts. Somerset didn’t answer, and the conversation seemingly hit a dead end.

“Alright, gotta get back to work,” she stood up and shouldered a stack of planks. “Let’s go try and cobble up something good. Thanks for the talk.”

By the evening, they had built a sound shelter inside the rotunda. They lay a foundation of stone and lined the walls with it too so that it shielded the wind better. The roof was improvised from a wooden frame and turf blocks. The man at the bonfire was at first looking at them, like they were insane, and sat around sipping Estus. Then, with a resigned handwave, he joined them. They also constructed a working pulley by the well and now had access to water.

By sundown, the sky darkened, putting on a deep-blue shroud. Wispy clouds up above, sailing over the rocks and old towers, were painted pink. When Rami and Mendes finished covering the roof with turf, they stepped back and gazed upon their reasonably decent creation.

“Well, not too bad,” the knight stated. “Now we at least won’t get wet.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Still can’t recognize your accent. Where are you from, Mendes?”

“From the East. But different country than him,” he nodded at the samurai who was pulling up water from the well. “My homeland is called Korasan.”

“What did you do back there? You know your way with weapons, that’s for sure.”

“I was a gladiator,” he pointed at himself with a thumb, a big smile on his face, and crossed his hands. “A very good gladiator. Fought others like me, often to the death.”

“You fought in the arena? To the death?”

“Is that weird to you?”

“A little. We have no such customs, I’ve only heard of this.”

“It’s an entire business back home. Big people make money with gladiators. They were not afraid to bet on me. Until I was mortally bested, of course,” he laughed. “Since then, I bear the Darksign. And travel the world. Almost ten years now.”

“Were you headed here as well?”

Mendes shrugged.

“I spent a long time in the Great Swamps. There, they taught me… to control fire,” he opened his hand and summoned his pyromancy flame briefly. Ramilda nodded.

“Why did you leave? As far as I know, the folks in the Swamps are pretty tolerant.”

“Yes, they are good people. But I had nothing to do there. I must vanquish a thousand enemies – then I can go to paradise when I die.”

“To paradise?”

“My faith teaches that. Our warriors’ faith.”

“Ah, so that’s why you mentioned ‘worthy opponents.’ So, you believe that’s how you lift the Curse?”

“Maybe I lift it. Maybe not. To me, the Curse is nothing. It doesn’t matter. The important thing is to vanquish your thousand.”

He pulled a belt strapped across his shoulder, and demonstrated to Rami the wooden tablets attached to it. They flaunted multitudes of tally marks in clusters of five.

“My entire gladiator’s way is right here. I made four marks today. I only need one hundred, six times ten, and nine more.”

Ramilda nodded knowingly.

“I hope you can make it,” she smiled.

“Thank you. So, how does it feel to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Here,” he made a wide gesture. “I heard of your goal. After all, the ancient gods lived here… See these walls?” he gestured at the rock across the chasm. “Only they could build something like this – and they were the first to fall to the Curse. And now, you look at all this. How does it feel?”

Ramilda raised her head up, staring at the blackening skies and the emerging stars. This question made her ponder and fully realize just how impossibly hard her mission was.

“How does it feel, you say…? Honestly? I’m scared. Plain and simple.”

Mendes nodded and smiled knowingly.

“You are a good warrior,” he punched Ramilda in the shoulder. “You can make it.”

The knight laughed and returned the gesture. The gladiator walked towards the bonfire as she looked into the sky again. The forsaken land still retained the vestiges of its former glory. But to Rami, it was cold and alien, and the future remained too murky and uncertain. Here, under the strange stars, she was truly, deeply scared.

“Serious, and very much so,” she whispered Captain de Plancy’s favorite catchphrase.

The crow that carried them to the Firelink Shrine, was already sleeping, ruffled up in its nest. With a sad smile, Ramilda walked off to join the others. The entire party gathered together along with the Crestfallen who kept his distance and watched them.

“Where should we go first?” Ryu raised the question. “I suppose, we should find out how we can make it to one of the bells. I examined that lift: the mechanism is intact, but there is some breakage upstairs, perhaps a missing chain. If I had the necessary details and the way to get up, I could repair it.”

“Try not to walk into the cemetery,” the Crestfallen remarked. “There is the _other_ kind of undead abound. Woken by necromancers from the catacombs. But they do not wander in here. If you want my advice, if you… really are going to do something, I suggest you go to the Upper Burg over there,” he pointed at the walls on the other side. ‘There is a path leading from here to the aqueduct. You can walk across it to get to the town.”

“But the first bell is here, on this mountain, right?” Ramilda asked. “Should we get to the big bridge up there?”

The man nodded.

“Yeah, you can try.”

“Then it’s decided. We go to the town tomorrow.”

“Gentlemen, we have another issue on the table,” Xendric said, demonstrating a vial with the black essence. “We’ve already split the demon’s soul between ourselves. Father Petrus informed me that souls are used as currency here. But what about humanity? We only have enough for one use. Who is willing to claim it?”

“You’ve had it the worst for now,” Ramilda said. “So I would vote for you.”

“Agreed,” Katsumoto nodded.

“I concede,” Somerset uttered.

“Go take it, sorcerer,” Mendes added.

“Well, you have my thanks. Now, then…”

He opened the vessel and pulled the dark matter out of it. Holding it in place above his palm, he held out his hand over the fire, held his breath and concentrated. The flame stirred, the dark essence erupted in white. It slowly waned and dissipated, enveloping the sorcerer’s hand with white luminous dust. The mage winced, and Ramilda knew why: it was not the flame, but the Darksign that hurt. If he was to take off his glove, they would see the rim of the black sigil glowing in auburn.

It was over in several seconds. Xendric’s features changed: they became less withered, and the skin’s color shifted a little. It was still obvious he was hollowing, but the power of humanity enhanced by the bonfire pushed him closer to his normal appearance. And maybe returned a part of his memory to him.

“Are you feeling better?” Rami asked.

“A little,” the mage smiled. “I need some time to understand what has changed. Memory is a tricky thing. Sometimes, you have to think hard before you find the right thread. But now I feel that this little thread is definitely out there.”

Swann nodded wearily. She was getting sleepy.

“Move out tomorrow?” she asked.

“No point in waiting around,” the samurai agreed.

“Tell me, Ryu, how long have you been a warrior?”

“All my life. I was of noble ilk.”

“Did you take part in large battles? Ever took command?”

“Many times. I died in one such battle.”

“I figured. We’ll need your experience badly, so… I’m glad you’re with us,” Rami forced a smile.

“Likewise. We worked pretty well together, for the first time. We’ll see where the road will take us.”

“I don’t know about you, but I intend to walk the path of the prophecy,” Somerset said.

“I don’t know about you, but I intend to walk the path of sound sleep,” Ramilda said, and her companions laughed. “I’ve been awake for too long now.”

“A wonderful proposition,” Xendric approved.

“If anyone needs it, I can give you my blanket – I’ll get by with my cloak.”

“Thanks, I have my own mantle,” the sorcerer laughed. “But that was very nice of you.”

“I will take first watch,” Somerset volunteered, standing up.

“Hit me when you get tired, I’ll relieve you,” Ryu said. “You go get some sleep, Ramilda.”

“Thank you.”

The knightess nodded to herself. Now she had only one thing to do. She filled a clay bottle with water from the well, took the blanket, and went down to see Anastacia. The Fire Keeper was already asleep. Ramilda quietly approached the bars, carefully pushed the folded blanket through and left the bottle by its side.

When she returned, she walked over to the shed, spread out her cloak, and lay right on top of it: the cold was of no concern near the bonfire. It appeared that the Firelink Shrine was to become their new home in this unwelcoming land.

Night fell over Lordran. There was a long way ahead of them, and it was anything but easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earl Arstor got upgraded to a ducal status in this story :) Just the way I want it.


	3. The Bargain

_…Yes, indeed, this author adores flowery language and Significant Capitalized Words. It’s worth noting that the entire book is written in this tone, which makes academic reading rather hard. A style like this is far more appropriate for a Way of White disciple rather than a scholar of the undead who tries to tackle the problem scientifically. In essence, this collection of notes is not written in order to study the undead, nor even for enlightenment purposes, I wager. The anonymity of such treatises is a common move, but a money trail will always show the way. Some at the top of the White Church already call this book a “heretical libel”, and some well-informed gentlemen have certain clues as to the author’s identity. But, since the issue is highly speculative, I am going to omit it entirely._

_Yes, indeed, this treatise leaves much to be desired in terms of language, methodology, and sourcing. But given that the undead issue remains taboo, this is one of the best undead-themed compilations we know of. If one manages to wade through the pompous style, dubious allegations and the overall eschatological tone, then one can learn something useful from the book._

_I am not supposed to make clarifications for the obtuse, but I still have to state the obvious. Of course, we cannot seriously consider the passages on the initial state of the world. It would be ridiculous to suggest that Gwyn and his companions came out of nowhere, and that the institution of knighthood simply sprang up, just as many other concepts that suggest a long existence and evolution of society. In the opening lines, the Witch of Izalith’s daughters are given the moniker of the Daughters of Chaos, even though the Bed of Chaos hadn’t existed at that time, which betrays the author’s lack of proficiency._

_In many ways, the text is close to the Way of White narrative: the world as we know it had begun with the Advent of Fire and the Great War with the dragons. In addition, that very narrative suggests the existence of humans even before the Advent. The fact that Allfather Lloyd, a central deity of the Way of White and the legendary founder of the Church, is called Gwyn’s uncle in all canonical texts, also supports it. Despite scarce knowledge of the real Lloyd, his existence is unquestionable. It is possible though that the ‘world shrouded by fog’ is simply a figure of speech, a metaphor highlighting the catastrophic lack of information about the world before the Advent that we still haven’t made up for._

_All that we know for sure is that the war against dragons did take place, that the aforementioned individuals did take part in it, and that Gwyn and his companions did find the First Flame, been granted certain powers, and used them to reshape the world. The Advent of Fire, it seems, gave birth to the sun that we see in the skies. In this regard, the author, again, repeats the postulates of the Way of White: the sun is a reflection of the First Flame that is lit in Lordran. Therefore, it shines bright only when sailing over the lands untouched by the Curse profoundly, where bonfires – the copies of the Flame – are sufficiently fueled by souls and humanity. Again, in that context one can recall the accounts of travelers and the military; they all indicate how the sun fades over the lands of Balder and Berenike, whose plight is well known to us, and how, in certain regions, one can observe “dawning” and “fading” of the sun in various sections of the sky. New observations mentioned in the treatise further corroborate that the “eternal nights” and the fading of the sun are astronomical phenomena caused by the fading of the Flame, and not a matter of human perception._

_Unfortunately for the whole picture, precise data is insufficient, and the intelligence on Lordran is highly speculative. Since Gwyn had sacrificed himself to rekindle the First Flame 500 years ago, Lordran experienced a collapse of such magnitude that all information originating from it must be thoroughly examined; few can survive such chaos, let alone find a shred of truth in it. I doubt even the highest hierarchs of the White Church know what is truly going on there. They have long since lost strong links with Lordran, and some suggest that their expeditions, claimed to be “holy missions”, are merely an attempt to unearth ancient artifacts._

_The intelligence on victims of the Curse is of utmost interest. The author had collected evidence with diligence of a doctor researching a disease – some of it new and rather bold in light of the unofficial Church taboo. Before giving commentary on these observations, I will briefly state the major thesis: those who become undead keep their sanity as long as they remember their goal and have the willpower to pursue it._

_As we know, instead of dying outright, anyone branded by the Curse repeatedly comes back to life, but loses a part of themselves with every new death. This process, known as “hollowing”, first affects the memories, then both the personality and the mind of a person. Aside from dying, this process is also caused by a natural flow of time, and sooner or later a person loses their sanity completely and becomes “hollow”. Even in death, they retain their soul, but their essence, their humanity (both literal and figurative) is gone. Now, let us remind ourselves that it is humanity that provides conscience and free will, as opposed to the soul, which is a source of life proper. If we were to conclude that this assumption is true, and then remember that each death drains humanity specifically, then this thesis would seem highly plausible._

_– Logan of Megenberg, Vinheim Dragon School professor; a commentary on ‘Book of the Last Days’, ‘Compendium Immortui’._

***

The last strap of her friend’s armor fastened, Ramilda slapped Somerset on the shoulder. The knight responded with a reserved nod and put on his helmet. Throughout the morning, he had been acting unusually depressed, which was especially evident in contrast with the enthusiasm that seeped through his voice yesterday, as they spoke while working. Now, it seemed, all his vivacity has drained, and Somerset dragged on thanks only to knightly training, realizing he simply had to.

Rami was deeply concerned by this. They couldn’t afford to lose combat effectiveness, but right now Somerset was the weakest link in their party. Not because he was weak – he seemed a very sound fighter. But Ramilda knew from experience that, in a depressed state, even a very good fighter is highly prone to mistakes and negligence, and therefore, is at their most vulnerable.

“Are you sure you feel alright?” she asked. “Anything bothering you?”

“No, it’s nothing,” Somerset replied in a faint voice. “I’m fine.”

“I’d like to believe you, but I can’t. If there’s something weighing on you, better say it now.”

“No, I assure you, I’m completely fine,” the knight shook his head. “I’m ready for battle, sister.”

Evidently, he was too stubborn to tell. Most likely, this wasn’t caused by anything that transpired yesterday – rather, he was depressed by something much, much deeper. If so, pressing the matter now was ill-advised.

“Then just stick with the rest and don’t take any unnecessary risks, alright? We got your back.”

“No need. I’m perfectly capable of defending myself – and everybody in this fellowship. Especially you, sister.”

For a second, Ramilda was at a loss, but still responded with a silent nod. Taking the opportunity, she approached Xendric and addressed him quietly:

“Did you have a good talk with this… Petrus?”

“Perfectly adequate,” the sorcerer chuckled. “He is a knowledgeable man – and witty. They won’t give us any trouble; this whole thing is rather beneficial for the Way of White, for obvious reasons.”

“You mean, they actually benefit from the undead trying to lift the Curse?”

“Exactly. They reap their own profits from the Curse. But letting it grow is not in their interest. It’s always better when someone does the dirty work for you.”

Ramilda nodded.

“Slick one, isn’t he?”

“Certainly. He even let it slip ‘accidentally’ that, for a ‘modest fee’, he’d be willing to teach miracles… if anybody needs that. He is a broad-minded individual, but this breadth of mind is quite dependable on bribes. And right here, father Petrus is like a cat in a creamery…”

“Yeah, I bet…”

“You kept glancing at his manservant yesterday. Is it prudent to be wary of him?”

“It is. He is a player – observes everything, admires nothing, and keeps a low profile. And judging by his bearings and various little things, he’s dangerous in a fight, even though he’s short.”

“Beware the quiet ones,” Xendric uttered knowingly.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” she said with a faint smile. “Be safe. I’ll be on standby with Estus if push comes to shove.”

“Much obliged,” the sorcerer smiled back.

Ramilda looked over the others, making sure everyone was ready to move, and turned towards Ryu. There was one more matter to resolve, the most important one.

“Before we go… we all have different skills and habits here, but most of us have received a warrior’s training. We must act like a unit and get accustomed to it – we’ll need some time to adjust, for sure. But most of all, we need a commander. I know we have no chain of command here, but we desperately need someone who will issue orders and lead us in battle. Our survival depends on this. And it only applies to battle, not making group decisions. Agreed?” they all approved. “Katsumoto. You led men into battle many times and were in command of an army – you have more experience than I. I suggest you lead us.”

“I am ready if the rest would agree.”

“I won’t object to that,” Xendric said.

“Me neither,” Mendes concurred.

“Well, let it be,” Somerset agreed.

The samurai nodded.

“I will not let you down.”

“Xendric,” Rami carried on. “Would you agree to be our treasurer? Souls are a valuable resource here, and I think we should always have a reserve of sorts and split the rest equally.”

“I’m always ready,” Xendric smiled slightly. “Thank you for the trust.”

“Great,” Ryu summed up. “Let’s move out then. Rami, Somerset, you take point, Xendric in the middle, Mendes and I will cover the rear. Let’s go.”

Ramilda put on her sallet with the red feather and fastened the chinstrap. She took a last look at the bonfire and the Crestfallen, who was watching them, nodded at him and walked away. The party stretched out into a column and headed towards the aqueduct.

“Blades out,” Ryu said at some point, nocking an arrow on a string. “We can be waylaid any moment now.”

They went unhindered up the narrow stairway hewn in the rock, set foot inside the aqueduct and moved along a roofed canal. Fresh, clean water murmured at their feet. Their steps echoed in the narrow passage, and they oriented themselves towards sunlight coming from the side somewhere ahead. In the end, they bumped into a grate and a sunlit passage to the left. Beyond it, was a long stairway going up.

Bright light stabbed their eyes as they ascended. They found themselves on a platform adjacent to the top floors of a tall building with a tiled gable roof; all around them were similar roofs and spires. The platform was connected to others like it by little bridges and catwalks.

Stone and half-timbered buildings towered around them, their upper floors sometimes forming what looked like separate houses on platforms – apparently, this was what the Crestfallen referred to as ‘the Upper Burg.’ Maybe the town nobles lived here once upon a time. Even now, after hundreds of years of desolation, these walls stood firm, though covered with moss and ivy. Only in some places they could notice crenellations falling apart or cobblestones missing.

Down below, looking over the parapet, they could see the roofs and the streets of the Lower Burg. The fall was pretty high. Much higher than the roofs of the Upper Burg rose gargantuan towers and walls blocking the sun. The neat semi-circle of walls along the edge of the cliff continued in a jagged line along the crevasse that lay between the town and the neighboring mountain. Far ahead, at its northern end, this segment linked with a gigantic round tower, from which another semi-circular wall began, enclosing the town from the opposite side. In its center, between two similar towers, stood the gate – and a colossal bridge flying across and above the town, all the way to the fortress on the other side of the crevasse. Out there somewhere, the bell awaited them.

“Looks like we gotta find our way over there,” Ryu pointed at the towers by the gate. “For now, that’s the only place where I can see the access to the bridge.”

“Yeah, we’ll have to traverse the roofs,” Ramilda agreed.

At that instant, some noise came from inside the house that they stood by. Some crates collapsed onto the floor, then came the sound of metal clanging and somebody’s voice. The pilgrims became alarmed. The samurai nodded at the corner; Ramilda was the first to get to an archway where the door once stood, and saw the scene inside.

Near the wall, in a pile of toppled boxed, wallowed a man in a dark frayed robe and with a white band on his head. On his back rested a huge sack with extra containers and different items attached, a flask and a frying pan among them. Cursing extravagantly, the man managed to stand up, reeling comically from the weight of the sack. He had a face of a completely drained hollow, and for a moment, Rami feared the worst, especially as the undead grabbed a sword in a scabbard. Surprisingly, it was very similar to Katsumoto’s. However, upon seeing the new arrivals, he relaxed and threw up his hands, as if to signify the utter failure he has just suffered.

“Boy, oh boy,” he said in a high-pitched raspy voice. “What a merry bit of luck. Clean faces in this godforsaken place! I hope we can do without weapons?”

“And good day to you, sir,” Ramilda nodded, hesitant to sheathe the sword. “Who are you?”

“Me? Oh, I’m merely a peddler trying to make ends meet. For some souls, I can sell you everything and then some!” he laughed nervously and scratched his bald head.

“Good day to you, noble one,” Xendric said, eyeing the undead. “A peddler, you say? Is this your… shop, if I may ask?”

“Oh, no, no, I was simply stocking up on wares.”

“So you simply loot these houses?” Somerset asked. “You take what belonged to their owners?”

“Belonged’ is a very accurate word, sir. Of course I loot them! Whaddya think? These wrecks had no masters for centuries now, and I can’t bloody well let the good stuff go to waste. Rips my soul apart, y’know, heheheheh.”

“You’re a marauder!”

“Marauder or not, at least the poor wretches in the Lower Burg can get their hands on some handy things, and all sorts of grunts like you can have their weapons and other rusty devices of murder. I suppose you don’t exactly hand out charity either.”

“We are not going to hinder you in any way,” Ramilda seized the initiative before Somerset managed to reply, glancing at the others. “Right?”

“I, for one, don’t have any such intention,” Xendric shrugged, smiling at the peddler. “We can be of help to each other, I’m sure.”

“I wouldn’t deal with some suspicious fellow,” Somerset said. “Who knows if he’s going to stab us in the back.”

“Well, don’t then, young man. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ll have a talk.”

“No need to be squeamish about talking,” Ryu said, raising his hand and stepping forward. “If you are a merchant, I would take a look at your wares. Somerset, Mendes, take watch outside.”

“I think…”

“Somerset,” Ramilda interrupted. “Ryu gave an order.”

Her brother in arms arrested, gave the peddler an unpleasant look, and walked outside after Mendes. Ramilda sighed furtively and sheathed her weapon.

“Wonderful,” the merchant concluded. “Believe it or not, I have a proposition for you. So what, maybe we sit down, talk it over and find out how we can help each other?”

He sat on the floor demonstratively, crossing his feet, then pulled the scabbard from under his sash and put it down on his right, where he couldn’t reach for the sword comfortably. His eyes, deep in his darkened eye-sockets, glanced from one person to another. Ryu looked at him intently, slightly befuddled.

“Remarkable. You are familiar with our custom.”

The merchant threw up his hands.

“I saw a thing or two in my day. The Easterners stroll by sometimes, I even got this blade from one of ‘em.”

“Yes, I noticed the katana,” the samurai nodded, sitting down on his knees, and mirrored the merchant’s gesture. “What is your name?”

“I’d prefer to withhold it. You can think of it as a… trade secret.”

“So, what kind of proposition have you got?”

“An extremely simple one. As sir knight has rightfully noticed,” he glanced at Ramilda’s surcoat, “I’ve been looting these here houses. I get out to the Uptown pretty often – lots of useful junk to snatch even after all these years, and the folks are afraid to go here – too many hollows. ‘Course, the Lower Burg is one hell of a shithole, but there at least they rob you first and gut you second. Here, only hollows. Not to mention a dragon is in a habit of flying around…”

“A dragon?” Xendric asked. “You mean a wyvern? There are no real dragons left in this world, noble one.”

The peddler chuckled.

“Wyverns, dragons, who the hell cares anymore? It’s red, it has wings, it breathes fire and eats the undead for breakfast.”

“For the sake of accuracy, I would prefer to call it a wyvern. It has two legs, correct?”

“Yeah, yeah. Well, who am I to argue with exalted gentlemen of Vinheim? Heheheh. Thing is, this wyvern is nested on the bridge – over there on that side, all cozied up in the Parish.”

“You mean the fortress on the next mountain?” Rami asked.

“Right, that one. There’s a cathedral with a huge bell over there, hence the Parish. The wyvern sits at the gate and occasionally flies over here to snatch someone. If you see it, better just hide, believe me.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Ryu nodded. “So what is your trouble?”

“Trouble is, I wasn’t cautious enough and grabbed the attention of some hollows. There are town guard barracks nearby, but for the last hundred years, they’ve been occupied by soldiers of Balder. Well, more like what’s left of them. So, these chaps noticed me and then started roaming all around. It’s almost like they got summoned to their battle stations or something.”

“Balder Soldiers?” Ramilda inquired. “The knight-king’s army – it had been here?”

“Lady knight is a student of history, I see,” the merchant chuckled. “Yeah, they passed through here and even left a small garrison. I think you can imagine what has become of them.”

Ramilda felt her skin crawl. She remembered well the history of Knight-King Rendal, the last monarch of Balder. He became a true legend in his time, having elevated his kingdom and repelled all encroachments upon its lands. An unmatched warrior and tactician, he was himself a member of Balder knighthood, the Purple Cloaks, hence his title. One hundred years ago, when his country was stricken with the Curse and was about to collapse into chaos, Rendal called his faithful banners and embarked on an infamous march to Lordran, hoping to uncover the secret of the Curse and lift it. All knights of Balder went with him, followed by the banners of the best regiments – battle-scarred veterans carrying hopes of the entire kingdom on their shoulders.

This campaign culminated in a complete fiasco, and the entire host of Balder found its end in Lordran. There was little evidence of how it came to be, but it boiled down to one thing; the army fell apart because of the Curse that branded more and more people, snowballing out of control. Now, knights and soldiers of Balder wandered these parts, the hollowed ghosts of the past, and Rendal’s kingdom fell to the Dark.

“Anyway, as long as these hollows keep standing around, they block my way back. I could of course get back to the Lower Burg through the aqueduct, but then I’d have to pass through an _exceptionally_ bad neighborhood,” the merchant shuddered.

“You can get down through the aqueduct?” Ryu asked. “There’s a grate downstairs blocking the way. Do you have the keys?”

“I got keys from every single door in this town,” the merchant smiled. “And if not, then I use a lockpick or find another way in. Anyway, if you’ll agree to clear the path from hollows and deliver me safely to the lower quarters, I’ll be very thankful for that. Maybe even give you a discount for some of my wares… Don’t wanna risk my head if I don’t have to.”

“I thought the risk was part of the job,” the samurai laughed.

“Well, you got that right, sir warrior,” the merchant smiled. “But the risk can be both reasonable and unreasonable. Right, Yulia?”

An albino rat crawled onto the undead’s shoulder, sniffing and looking around. The merchant carefully scratched her neck, and the rat closed her eyes, delighted.

“So what? You up for it?”

“I think it’s a good proposition,” Xendric said.

“Agreed, sounds curious,” Ryu nodded. “We are headed roughly the same way. What do the rest think?”

“I agree,” Ramilda said. “Tell us, if we meet _intelligent_ locals, can you help us get along with them?”

The merchant laughed.

“Intelligence is hard to come by in these parts. It depends. Some you can reason with, some you can’t. I’ll do what I can,” he shrugged.

“Thank you,” Rami nodded, looking at the white pet on his shoulder. “You got a beautiful rat.”

“Oh, this cute little hairball? Her name is Yulia. Lovely, isn’t she? Who’s a good girl? You will never leave me, right darling?” he kept petting the rat. “Be careful around her though, she could bite off your fingers! Will you be kind to our guests, Yulia? Who’s a good ratty?”

“If you won’t mind, I would take a look at what you have while we are here,” the samurai said. “Briefly. You mentioned something about keys. Do you have copies?”

“Mm, I see you know a good purchase when you see one! Access is the key to all doors, right? Yeah, I got a bundle of keys that would fit many doors in this town. But it’s gonna cost you. I won’t simply take any shrimpy soul for it.”

Ramilda, feeling the talk went well, bent over to the samurai and said quietly:

“I’ll be outside.”

Somerset was pacing about with a zweihänder on his shoulder. Mendes stood nearby, keeping watch.

“A word with you, brother,” Rami said.

“I’m listening.”

“Why did you need to say that?” she whispered, nodding at the house.

“What do you mean?”

“This whole thing about marauders and suspicious fellows?”

“I simply call things what they really are.”

“Without even thinking it could turn him against us?”

Somerset sighed.

“Sister, we shouldn’t be dealing with robbers and scoundrels. And he _is_ a scoundrel.”

“He is a _person,_ Somerset. It’s called survival. We wouldn’t be much better than him in his shoes.”

“I would never leech off the plight of others. Your words offend me.”

“Alright, maybe he is no knight, but he is no villain, either. And we can and should talk to him, because he is local and he knows many things, and we know _nothing_ about this town. He can help us.”

“That may be. But I still see no point in this. Hollows, monsters, whatever it is – we are knights, and we will prevail one way or the other. And to sully our hands by shaking them with scoundrels – what for…?”

Swann looked him in the eye, not exactly believing what she just heard. She felt like the man standing in front of her was not a seasoned, clever warrior, but a naïve youth thinking he could deal with any danger on his own, paying little mind to real circumstances. She had seen her share of those people in the Knights – oftentimes, they learned in a quick but painful way. Commanders with this mentality could cause a lot of grief. But it was doubly strange to hear this from Somerset.

“So, you’re saying we should just jump headlong into the waterfall?” Ramilda smiled slightly. “Somerset, if we go blind into this, we’ll get smoked. In these circumstances, we should use the locals every chance we can get. They teach that in the Knights. We won’t jump into some stinking hole just because he says it’s safe, nobody said anything about not being cautious. But we could still use his help.”

“I hope you are right.”

“Let’s try not to get emotional and just keep quiet sometimes, alright? Even if we don’t like something.”

Somerset didn’t respond and simply went off to the side.

They moved out some time later. If the merchant was to be believed, the undead Baldrians were close by, so the fellowship prepared for battle. Having passed through a building, they were ascending a short stairway when they heard steps and guttural wheezing ahead; the hollows were near. At the same moment, a strange noise reached them, like an abrupt gust of wind. As they reached the upper platform and saw the first hollow, this same noise repeated; all of a sudden, the merchant shouted from the rear:

“Everyone, duck! Get down!”

The entire party threw themselves on the cobbles. Raising her head, Ramilda saw a large winged silhouette swoop down on the wall with a loud roar. It was a red wyvern, with two legs and four horns, its entire neck covered with spikes. It landed with a bang, snatched a lone hollow and took off into the air, flying towards the bridge. The knightess’ heart was racing. Never before she has seen a beast like this, and the sight she beheld was both terrifying and awesome. Taking a deep breath with a shudder, she rose to her feet, sensing her fear transform into excitement before the battle, a familiar feeling flowing through her veins. The wyvern disappeared behind the high towers.

“Look what the wind blew in,” the merchant grunted, laughing nervously. “At least we’re safe now. She’s in for a long meal.”

Ramilda nodded and observed the situation ahead. The passage led to a broad platform, and on the other side of this space was a tiny tower with stairs adjacent to it. Behind the crenellations, she could see a crossbowman. Two half-rotten siege mantlets stood on the platform with several figures behind them. Pointing at them with a sword, Ramilda turned her head to Ryu:

“See the marksman on the tower?”

“I do.”

“How should we approach this?”

“I’m going to throw a bomb behind the mantlets – we smoke them out of cover and finish them. You and Somerset go forth and cover each other, Mendes assisting slightly behind. Xendric, you introduce the marksman to one of your arrows, all clear?”

“I’ll try,” the sorcerer nodded.

“Let’s go,” Katsumoto lit the fire bomb’s wick, and the party moved to engage.

The hollows came into motion, noticing them approach. Soldiers in rusted, worn-out armor and discolored rags, they nevertheless retained their knack for combat. Three of them leaped forward, and the marksmen unloaded their crossbows. Ramilda caught one bolt with a shield, the other whizzed inches from her head, the third one dented Somerset’s cuirass. The knightess hastily assessed the three foes; two in mail shirts and helmets, with heater shields far smaller than hers. The third one was wearing a breastplate, and his helmet had a socket for a plume – he resembled an officer.

“I’ll take one on the left!” she fired at Somerset.

Xendric raised his staff, and a glowing blue projectile took off – a soul arrow. Flying overhead, it hit a crenellation of the tower as the marksman took cover behind it. A flaming bomb came next, and it landed right behind the mantlets, smashing against one of the marksmen. Engulfed by the flames, he tossed and darted to the side, tumbled over the parapet and fell to his death like a torch.

The knights clashed with the enemy. Right off the bat, Somerset hacked off one hollow’s hand with a mighty swing. While he finished him off, Ramilda, blocking the officer’s attack, landed a quick blow on another’s helmet, distracting him. She ceded a step, parrying a dangerous blow with her blade, and hacked away from the same position, hitting a mail-covered shoulder. The hollow recoiled in pain, and Somerset pressed him away. Katsumoto’s arrow swooshed by, killing a crossbowman that abandoned the mantlet.

“Spears on the right!” Mendes shouted, throwing his axes.

This was enough to realize he won’t be able to assist – he had to cover Xendric and Ryu. A marksman leaned out from behind a crenellation and shot at Mendes; Ramilda could only hear him grunt in pain. The marksman hid to reload, and another soul arrow smashed uselessly into dust.

Giving ground to the officer’s onslaught, the knightess glanced quickly to the right. The spearmen ran up to them from a side platform across the catwalk, and both of them were carrying kite shields. She had to finish off her adversary fast. She cut low at his shin, forcing him to block, parried his own attack with a shield, and managed to bind his blade with hers. Pushing it aside, she swiftly thrust her sword into his neck. The officer wheezed and went down. Somerset finished off the third one.

As Ryu was retreating before the spearmen, Xendric ran forward and fired a soul spear into them, putting both to rest. Mendes was wounded in the side; he already ripped out the bolt through immense pain and reached for Estus. Only the marksman on the tower remained – and a spearman with a shield blocking the stairs. Somerset lunged at him immediately.

“Stop!” Ramilda shouted, retreating to the sorcerer, as she felt the marksman was about to appear again. Somerset remained standing in the tiny tower’s shadow, waiting for his comrades. The marksman reemerged, but chose to shoot at the samurai, realizing that Xendric was covered. Ryu recoiled at the last moment, and the bolt glanced off the cobbles inches away from his foot.

“Somerset!” he shouted. “Give me a lift!”

“What?”

“Give me a lift!” he clarified with a gesture. “Xendric, serve it to the spearman!”

While the sorcerer, covered by Rami, positioned himself, Somerset put his sword down and kneeled. Katsumoto sprinted towards him, jumped on his shoulders, and the knight stood up, holding the samurai’s legs. He wasted no time and shoved off, latching onto a space between the crenellations. Somerset stretched his hands out so that the samurai could use them as support, Ryu pulled himself up and fell over the parapet.

Before the crossbowman could react, Ryu grabbed his sword and cut him down in one strike. Xendric meanwhile killed the spearman with a deadly spell. At that moment, an arrow came from somewhere up high and stuck between the small plates of the samurai’s spaulder. He hurriedly swung across the parapet onto the stairs, saving himself from another bolt, and froze for a couple of seconds, looking forward and assessing the threat. Then, he ran down to the others.

“There’s a platform up there,” he said, pulling the arrowhead from his spaulder. It was not covered in blood. “Then a small bridge to the other side, and a chapel with an archer on the belfry. To the left of it is what looks like barracks and then the stairs going up, onto the ramparts. There’s a scaffold right in front of the barracks with four soldiers – two of them have crossbows for sure. The bridge is blocked by a spearman.”

“Got one eye, but it’s an eagle-eye, eh?” Mendes said with a twisted smile, picking up an old shield from the cobbles.

“What’s the plan?” Ramilda asked.

“Somerset, take a shield. You cover me, Mendes covers Xendric. We walk to the platform and get rid of the marksmen. Ramilda, you stand in the middle as backup in case anything goes wrong.”

“Understood.”

“Xendric, can you cast something big on the marksmen?”

“I’ve got a couple of tricks up my sleeve for these occasions,” the sorcerer assured him. “Just keep me covered while I cast the spell.”

“I got your back,” Mendes said.

“Good,” the samurai nodded abruptly and ran to pick up his bow. “Shields forward!”

As soon as they reached the platform, arrows rained on them. They slowly pressed on, unharmed for now. Ryu tapped Somerset on the shoulder, signaling to stop, and shot back, trying to aim for the belfry. The arrow fell short.

“Two steps forward!” the samurai ordered. Then tapped Somerset again and took another shot, missing again.

All of a sudden, the knight ran off to the bridge, towards the spearman, leaving Ryu completely exposed. The archer on the belfry has already released the arrow, and Rami rushed to the samurai, cursing through her teeth. She barely managed to catch the arrow.

“Hold up!” Katsumoto shouted, taken aback. “Get back here!”

“Get back!” Ramilda screamed, beside herself with anger. “Get back!”

Soldiers on the scaffold immediately picked Somerset as their target. One bolt pierced the shield, another clanged against his helmet. But something even more dangerous happened: two soldiers started throwing fire bombs, the bridge being easily within their reach. One of them popped right behind Somerset, and he blocked the other with his shield. It caught on fire immediately, and the knight threw it away; it was by pure luck that the flaming liquid didn’t splash onto his clothes.

“What is he doing…?” Swann uttered, unable to believe what she saw. Coming to her senses again, she looked at the belfry and blocked a shot aimed at her feet. Katsumoto took a moment to aim properly and let go of the bowstring. Streaking in an arc, the arrow pierced the archer’s neck, and he collapsed onto the belfry floor.

“Xendric, how much longer?”

“Almost there!”

Ryu shot preemptively at one of the crossbowmen, wounding him in the leg. A split-second later, Xendric threw a spell. A vortex of a dozen big blue arrows emerged on the scaffold, twirling in an expanding spiral. Two soldiers managed to recoil and get away from the baneful vortex, the rest got riddled with arrows and fell.

Somerset was already fighting the spearman on the bridge. His armor helped him close the distance, and now he was hacking away fiercely – another blow sent the hollow to the ground. He crawled back, covering himself with a kite shield, and managed to stick the knight in the armpit. This gave him time to get up and retreat to the chapel. The knight, having barely recovered, rushed after him.

“Stay out of there!” Ramilda bellowed. “Get the hell back!”

Ryu cursed in his native tongue.

“After him!” he ordered. “Don’t stop at the bridge, go!”

They all sprinted forward, jumping over the flames on the run. The vortex on the scaffold has already dissipated, and two remaining soldiers ran up to the edge again, throwing their bombs. Xendric took one out with a soul arrow, but the vessel was already in flight – Ryu and Ramilda ducked, covering their heads; the bomb smashed into the stone railing right behind them. The second one was flying right at Xendric. Mendes raised his hand, summoning the inner flame, and hurled a small fire bolt towards it. The bomb exploded right in the air, shrapnel flying all around, and the gladiator covered the mage with a shield. They retaliated simultaneously, but Rami couldn’t see that.

She ran into the chapel and halted in terror; right at that moment, Somerset fell down with a blade in his face – he was struck right through the visor slit. Ramilda cursed loudly. There were four hollows inside who attacked Somerset simultaneously – he ran straight into a deathtrap. Without ado, Rami charged at them along with Ryu. The hollow soldier yanked out his sword and hacked away – Ramilda simply smashed into him and knocked him over with a shield, taking the strike with her helmet. Ryu slashed another hollow’s shin before he could attack Rami, and Mendes hurled his axes.

It was over in seconds. But the price for recklessness was already paid: Somerset’s body dissolved into a bunch of white lights and finally dissipated. Only a soul orb remained in its place. Ramilda felt a strong urge to kick something.

“Right into it, damn it,” she uttered through her teeth. “Ran right into it without order!”

“No time,” Ryu shut her down. “Mendes, shield up! We move in the same formation, heads on a swivel!”

Her training kicked in; there was no time to lament the casualties and get angry – the battle was not over yet. Rami broke the shafts of the arrows stuck in her shield, then pulled out the arrowheads from the other side. She fell in on Mendes’ left, as the samurai pulled out a fire bomb.

“Last one?” Swann asked.

“Yes. Forward!”

They went out the side exit, passed the barracks, and ascended the stairs. They noticed a small round tower with a lone crossbowman on top – Rami warned the others immediately. The marksman aimed and pulled the trigger – Mendes barely managed to intercept the bolt that was meant for Xendric. The sorcerer hurled a soul arrow in response, and it fractured against the battlements.

As they stepped on a cobbled platform right beneath the town walls, four enemies ran towards them, headed by a hollow officer. Had the party been just a little slower to ascend, they would have been pinned on the stairs. The officer moaned unintelligibly, raising his sword, and the soldiers grouped around him – two spearmen and one halberdier in the second line, behind the shields of his comrades. At that moment, two more barged through the door of the house opposite them; Xendric cast a soul spear right away, killing them on the spot.

Ryu only hesitated for a second and threw the bomb past the formation – into the doorway. They couldn’t know how many more there were, but now all who ran through the door had to somehow get past the flame.

“Xendric, watch the door!” he ordered, grabbing his katana. “Forward, slowly!”

Ramilda moved in, taking cover behind the shield, and bent her knees a little more, thereby slightly diminishing her silhouette; the spearmen had to be tackled with extreme caution, and the halberd behind their backs was even more dangerous. Mendes threw his axe, trying to reach the halberdier, but to no avail. Two more hollows barged through the door, both of them hurt badly by the fire. One darted off to the side, trying to put out the flames, and was slain by Xendric’s arrow, the other tried to get to his brethren and caught an axe with his face. The marksman on the tower shot again – Ramilda was simply outpositioned and couldn’t protect the samurai; he grunted as the bolt pierced the armor under his collarbone.

“Gotta get the marksman!” she shouted, blocking the spear thrusts. “We’re pinned down!”

She barely managed to parry the halberd strike aimed for her head. The officer seized the moment and lunged forward, trying to get her. Mendes fended him off, but got wounded in the leg by a spear.

“Watch the spearpoints!”

“Stay calm!” the wounded samurai yelled. “Xendric, get the halberdier! All charge on my command!”

The mage acted in a slightly different manner. He stepped to the side and raised his staff engulfed by a blue glow. A magic spear soared through the air. One spearman managed to duck and only got grazed by it, but the halberdier took the full brunt and fell dead.

“Charge!”

Ramilda blocked another thrust and rushed the officer. Mendes covered her from the spear on the right, the knight parried with her sword and kicked the officer’s shield. He staggered back, and Katsumoto burst into the opening. With Rami blocking one of the spearmen, he and Mendes cut down the other one, and Ryu ordered the gladiator into the tower. The crossbowman tried to shoot him before he got to the entrance, but missed. As his friends finished off the hollows, the Korasani passed the winding staircase swiftly and killed the marksman.

Pulling her bloodied sword out of the last hollow body, Ramilda took a breath. Only now did she hear heavy rattling footsteps approach. She could unmistakably recognize steel sabatons clanging – it came from down the stairs near the tower. They exchanged glances with Ryu, and the samurai quickly took a swig of Estus. And then, they both _saw_ it.

A massive figure walked right towards them, a knight clad in black plate. A faded glow of gilded ornaments on his armor, a massive blade in his hand and a black kite shield, the knight glared at them through the slit of his barbute with decorative wings. Ramilda felt her blood freeze. The image was familiar; she recognized, of course, the shape of the armor and the characteristic helmet – she saw the engravings with the Silver Knights of Lordran. But the steel plates were blued deep-black, and the wings crowning the helmet looked twisted, more akin to horns. Through the slit of the helmet, the void itself was staring at her. His sword in position to strike, the knight lunged forward.

“It’s a Black Knight!” Xendric announced. “Be careful, I’m almost empty!”

Ramilda barely suppressed her fear and snapped out of numbness. She and Ryu nodded at each other and separated, encircling the giant man. The samurai initiated contact and recoiled immediately. Ramilda couldn’t use her chance – the knight parried her blade with a shield and brought his sword down on her. The blow was so mighty it threw Ramilda off balance, and she staggered off to the wall, her hand numb from the impact.

Ryu tried to land a hit and failed again, barely parrying the counterblow. A blue arrow smashed into the knight, staggering him for a moment. The samurai attacked again, but the knight simply stepped into the attack, ramming him with a shield. He tried to rush straight to the sorcerer, but Ramilda intercepted him with a cry, trying to get him in the armpit. Her blade glanced uselessly off the shoulder plates. The knight pushed her back, gaining ground, and attacked with a downward cut – the shield hand treacherously went numb again. Swann tried to cut the inner side of the enemy’s thigh, but he deftly moved his leg away, feinted, and thrust his blade right below her cuirass, where only mail rings protected her. Ramilda let out a stifled grunt.

The Black Knight yanked his sword out and parried Katsumoto’s blow with the same movement. Rami reeled, barely containing the scream, waddled off to the side and collapsed. It was a grievous wound, and had she not been undead, she could easily succumb to it without timely aid. Growling through her teeth, she reached for the flask of living fire and took a big gulp. Feeling the warmth flowing through her veins, pain subsiding, she pulled herself up to her knee and saw Mendes, fire dancing between his fingers.

“Don’t!” Xendric shouted. “He is near impervious to fire! Give me a clean shot for the spear!”

The gladiator extinguished his pyromancy flame right away and attacked the knight, axes in hand. He parried both cuts with a shield, fending off Ryu simultaneously, swiftly moved to the side and slashed Mendes with a diagonal cut, inflicting a grievous wound. The gladiator recoiled with a scream, barely keeping his weapons, and it was Ryu who saved him from a fatal blow. The black-armored knight was damn good – too good, even for three skilled fighters. They had to achieve even better coordination in order to get him. Xendric must’ve been saving his last spear for a clean shot, as the knight was moving too fast.

“Let’s pin him to the tower!” Ramilda shouted, preparing for an attack. “From two sides on your command!”

The samurai nodded and kept threatening the knight from his line of attack. Rami cut him off from a different angle. The knight predictably moved to the side, not letting either of them get behind his back. But he was quickly losing ground, and with his back against the tower or the parapet he would be outmaneuvered. Ramilda knew what he would do next: he would attempt to rush one of the opponents and finish him off before the second one attacks.

The Black Knight charged at her. She threw her shield down, gripping the sword hilt with both hands. The giant took a swing to cut, but Ramilda recognized a feint at the last moment – the knight repositioned his hand and went for a lunge. With a step to the left, Ramilda parried the thrust to her face, binding the enemy’s sword, and performed a swift riposte that he was forced to block with a shield. Had the Black Knight not been so deft and swift, her blade would’ve pierced his throat.

Pushing her blade to the side, he kept attacking, Rami parried successfully, and it was at that moment that Ryu slashed the inside of his leg with a katana. The knight let out a terrifying, otherworldly groan and sagged. Pushing to the side, he swung in retaliation, and Ryu narrowly parried the fearsome cut. Ramilda slightly wounded the foe in the shin.

“Now!” the samurai cried out.

The knight tried to run through them, but they stopped his attempt. They pressed the attack simultaneously, the samurai minced around the knight, keeping his attention. Parrying Ramilda’s strike, he rammed Katsumoto with a shield and pushed him away, but couldn’t possibly react to Rami’s attack in time. She grabbed the blade with her left hand in a half-swording technique to strike with pinpoint accuracy. Binding the enemy’s blade, she plunged her sword right into his armpit.

The Black Knight groaned again. Pinned in an awkward position, he tried to push Ramilda away, but she only pressed harder with her sword, almost toppling the foe. Katsumoto cut his leg from behind again. A faint blue magical glow shrouded the knight. Rami saw him ready his shield for a strike and quickly pushed him with her shoulder, using the sword as a lever – the knight finally fell. She decided to pull the blade out immediately and gain some distance, just as Ryu did. Mendes, now fully healed, approached them. The knight struggled to get up, battling with his wounds – Rami felt he was almost finished, but knew too well how dangerous such an opponent could be.

“Xendric!” she shouted.

This was the moment the sorcerer was waiting for. Seizing the opportunity, he threw all the energy he had left into the spell, casting a spear that could pierce any armor. The giant simply couldn’t evade it – the soul spear ran him clean through, fracturing with bright flashes. With a last groan, the Black Knight dropped like a rock, his blued armor rumbling. He stopped moving. The blue glow around him faded.

Ramilda sighed slowly, lowering her sword. First, she looked around and found no signs of danger. No footsteps, no guttural sounds betraying the hollows. The merchant who was cautiously trailing them this entire time came up to them and clapped dramatically.

“By Gwyn Almighty’s thunder and his entire host! You demons managed to slay a Black Knight! A truly rare sight in these parts. Last time, I’ve seen one of those about a year ago. And I preferred to stay the _hell_ outta his way.”

“Looks like you’ve picked the right bodyguards,” Ramilda smiled.

“So what’s the discount at this point?” Xendric joked, easing the tension. The fellowship laughed a little.

“All in due time, noble one. But I see you can walk the talk.”

“How many of those are here?” Swann asked, nodding at the Black Knight.

“Some, as far as I know. But it really is a rare occasion to run into one.”

“What… exactly are they?”

“Relics of the Izalith War,” Xendric replied, moving closer.

“I thought that the ‘armor scorched by the demonic flame’ was just a metaphor, no?”

“In many regards, yes, but it has prosaic truth to it. They did start to wear blued armor after the March on Izalith – in honor of the fire that killed so many and left the living with their souls scarred,” Xendric kneeled before the knight, examining his corpse with great interest. “And then, when they accompanied Lord Gwyn to the First Flame… according to legend, they were burnt by it when Gwyn rekindled the Flame, and they became disembodied spirits. But this knight was still vulnerable to plain steel… Maybe, they simply went mad… or hollowed, like us, the accursed. Gods only know what goal they pursue these days.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m taking his sword,” the merchant declared. He took the massive weapon that was almost as tall as him, pulled with a grunt and lumbered it on his shoulder. “A wonderful trophy.”

“Let’s search the barracks,” Ryu said, wiping the blood on his blade with a piece of cloth. “There could still be hollows inside.”

“Yeah, gotta make sure,” Ramilda nodded, taking a look at the slain knight.

She felt her heart skip a beat as she thought of Somerset. She was still only getting used to the fact that her new companions could return to life time and again, and their loss was not definite. She only hoped that Somerset Leighton wouldn’t go hollow after his death.

They scoured the barracks and couldn’t find a single hollow. Despite the dust and the withered fabrics, the barracks were kept in a surprisingly good order. Weapon racks and chests with soldiers’ belongings were intact, and the beds were neatly made with sheets and lambskins. It felt as if the barracks were simply abandoned in this state. And given that the hollow soldiers remained here all this time and hadn’t used their beds for many years now, this feeling was eerie.

Ramilda noticed some empty sockets on weapon racks; it seemed, some hollow Baldrians grabbed their spears and crossbows as late as today. It was strange. Even beyond death, they were still driven by discipline, and the officers still commanded their soldiers.

The knightess was creeped out. For a moment, she envisioned herself becoming a part of the undead host, performing the actions drilled into her, heeding the vestigial flickers of her soul long devoid of all consciousness. Rami tried to get this out of her head as quickly as possible. She felt unbearably sorry for these guys. Once, just like her and her fellow knights, they too were sitting together at a table, laughing and singing their songs. Once, they too were driven by hope, before the Curse consumed them. At least, now, their eternal nightmare was over.

Rami unfastened her sallet’s chinstrap and took it off her sweating head with a sigh. She turned towards Ryu and noticed he was looking intently at something he held in his hand. She came closer, and the samurai raised his head for a moment. They looked at each other, and then gazed upon Katsumoto’s palm.

It was a pendant with a silver chain. On the inside, from an old, faded portrait, the piercing eyes of a young girl were staring back at Ramilda.

***

Somerset caught up with them in an hour. By that point, they had already collected the souls of dead soldiers and had a short rest. The knight’s hollowing face became even worse, but his mind was seemingly fine. Ramilda spared him the scolding for recklessness and ignoring orders; she would have time for this later when they are done for the day. Ryu, it seemed, made the same decision, merely suggesting that the knight listened to what he was being told next time. Leighton hardly reacted.

With the promised discount achieved, Katsumoto acquired the key bundle and various instruments. He also bought components and vessels for fire bombs – it turned out, the samurai had a knack for alchemy. His noble upbringing probably was the reason; the exile Easterner was a jack of all trades, it seemed.

Listening to the chatter of the talkative merchant, they descended to the Lower Burg and were now walking the empty streets. Direct sunlight was scarce, blocked by the tall houses and towers, and the atmosphere was dismal and depressing. Rickety doors and shutters creaked in the wind, and black maws of empty windows stared at them. The buildings stood so tightly together that even one cart would have trouble chugging along the main street, and the back alleys were a sheer nightmare. Every now and again, dogs were barking in the distance.

“Is this block abandoned?” Rami asked.

“More or less. All kinds of outcasts and half-hollows are nesting here. But they’re mainly scrapping for a couple of weak bonfires and try not to get noticed. Also, roaming plague dogs. Wonderful critters, rabid and evil as hell. You bump into a pack of ’em, you’re done.”

“Are there any street gangs here?”

“Of course! This quarter here used to be a goldmine, used to have lots of basements with loads of junk. Felton and his fellas were running things here – he was one of the big shots after the Baldrians ceased to be. Spent about… fifteen, twenty years on top of this shit, give or take – he was a big man, folks feared him. Then his gang fell apart from the inside, his enemies gnawed on the scraps, and Felton had long since rotten in some ditch. They scrubbed this place pretty good in the last half-century – nada. But some folks pop by even now. I used to go here too with some trusty guys. Besides, it’s a good place for ambushing enemies and rivals and whatever. Local kinglets are having a blast with this.”

“And who are the local kinglets at the moment?”

“Well, if we’re talking small fry, then it’s Herbert the Ratcatcher and Ornstein. Heheheh, this oaf thinks everybody oughta be afraid of him ‘cause he named himself after the first knight of Gwyn! Eh, but he’s just a lion cub with no teeth. They come and go. Then there’s a band of Butchers. Hell knows who’s in charge of ‘em, but these freaks live in cellars and devour humans.”

“Humans!?”

“Yeah! What’s the word? Cannibals! They snatch you, cut you to pieces and cook you in a big-ass cauldron. They also learned to tame hollows somehow. They must be feeding them this meat and ordering them around. A man goes missing – that means the Butchers have taken him. Then there’s Big Ralph. This one has long since trampled a couple of blocks in the South Quarter, and he’s firmly rooted. A ruthless and cunning chap, you better not cross him. I seldom walk down his alley. Then there’s Dorian. Dorian is not even a kinglet, he’s… he’s a rock! He was there even before the Baldrians came, and some say, ever since this whole shebang started. About two hundred years in the Lower Burg, that’s for sure. He had his highs and lows, but no matter what, this sly dog always came out on top. If anybody gives a damn about my opinion, I think he’s still gonna be there when everybody else is dead in a ditch. If there’s anyone you can sensibly reason with, it’s Dorian. He’s made of way different stuff than these brigands, I can tell. The guys from his community are not too bad, either. I got a sort of a… patronage thing going on with ‘em. There was this one time…”

A loud whistle soared through the air. Before the company could realize what was happening, someone pushed a cart full of firewood from the next alley – and with three men right on top of it. Two crossbowmen in dark clothes and cloth masks, and a big man in a red vest armed with a huge club.

“Don’t move!” a female voice commanded.

Shutters flapped all around them, and dark silhouettes with crossbows emerged in the windows – all with violet armbands. Following the cart, a slender young girl appeared, hand raised in the air, and a long-haired man with a simple sorcerer’s staff tailed her. Ramilda glanced across her shoulder: the way back was cut off, too. They walked straight into an ambush.

She looked at the girl again as she lowered her hand slowly. She had evenly trimmed, chin-length brown hair and a clean face, also half-covered with a cloth mask. She wore a black jacket, a slightly tattered maroon shoulder cape, and narrow breeches tucked into worn-out boots. Her left hand rested on a hilt of an arming sword in a simple scabbard, a buckler and a big knife with a curved blade hung on her belt. The big guy with bristly hair jumped off the cart, a wide grin on his face, and stood beside the girl, leaning on his club. Her figure seemed petite in comparison, but as Ramilda observed her bearing and poise, she reckoned the girl a fearsome opponent.

The crossbowmen kept the party in their sights. Lowering the mask, the brigand girl with brown hair looked at them with hostility and spoke:

“Who are you? And what the hell are you doing here?”

“We are a fellowship of pilgrims, noble one,” Xendric replied, taking the initiative. “We were headed for the bridge to the Parish.”

“Ha, here we go again,” the big guy laughed.

“Then how the hell did you wander in here?”

“We mean you no harm,” the sorcerer raised his hand in an apologetic gesture. “We are simply delivering on our promise. We pledged to accompany this gentleman to the Lower Burg, you see.”

“Ca-a-ayla!” the merchant dragged, emerging from behind Ramilda, and walked towards the girl. “I’m so glad to see you in this filthy maggots’ den! I suppose the handover did happen?”

“It did,” Cayla grunted in response, hands on her hips. “What are _you_ doing here? And what is this thing on your shoulder?”

“Eh, had another trip to the Uptown. Brought some presents and utensils for ya. And this? This is a Black Knight’s sword. No kidding.”

“Who are these freaks? They with you?”

“Ah well, me and Yulia ran into them upstairs. Or rather they did, for that matter. Charming fellas. And then we went for a walk together. Blasted a small crowd of hollows. And a Black Knight too, by the way.”

“A walk. I see. Now, step aside. We’ll have a chat with them. Heart-to-heart.”

“I hope we can do without weapons?” Xendric echoed the merchant’s recent phrase.

“Can do. Now get the hell outta here. Got it? Too many of your kind running about like rats!” she gestured aggressively. “There’s no place here for vermin like you!”

“Can I ask you why?” Xendric inquired tactfully.

“Cause all your gangs are the same breed! One steaming pile of shit, all of you! You want to chase the Prophecy? Fine, suit yourself, go right ahead, but not here! We’ve had enough! I know your lot. We’re nothing but dirt to you.”

“Not at all, noble one! Quite the opposite, we want to negotiate. Why the animosity?”

“Cause the likes of you had already stabbed us in the back! Yeah, they sang a pretty tune at first, too, and then snip! There goes the friendship! And you, sorc, you’re no better, I see right through you. So I repeat one last time, you scum; get lost, before we shoot you like chicken.”

“Don’t you dare threaten us!” Somerset rattled off. “I am a knight of Astora, and I will not tolerate this assault!”

Some of the brigands laughed.

“Shut the fuck up, scumbag!” Cayla yelled. “Nobody’s talking to you!”

“I assure you, we have no ill intentions whatsoever,” Xendric kept holding the line. “Let us talk. Maybe you could tell us what happened to you?”

“Xendric, no way,” Somerset insisted. “Can’t you see? They’re bandits. And here we are, humiliating ourselves as they’re sticking crossbows in our face?”

“Stop waving your sword around, you cock!” one of the brigands shouted. “Or I’m gonna feed you with a bolt to the face!”

“How about you eat my steel instead?” Somerset lashed back. “I am a knight of Astora! And I won’t be bullied by the likes of you!”

“Quiet, you fool,” Ramilda uttered quietly, deeply alarmed; all eyes converged on the Astorans. “Quiet, or they slaughter us.”

“Hey, sir knight,” a hooded crossbowman with a mask spoke in a husky voice, standing in the doorway to their side. “You make a funny move – I’ll put a hole in your face. Understand?”

“Don’t listen to him!” Xendric tried to amend the situation. “He’s almost hollow, he died too many times, so he’s blurting out drivel sometimes.”

“Hey!” Somerset remonstrated. “How dare you! Let them lower their weapons and stop threatening us, or else…”

“Shut up!” Ramilda barked as she grabbed Leighton’s hand and yanked it, turning the knight towards her. She looked him in the eye furiously. “By Gwyn’s thunder, keep quiet, brother! You’ll get us all killed! Let Xendric finish the talk, for all our sakes!”

“Sister, you don’t understand…”

“Listen to your sergeant!” she yelled, playing this card for the first time. “I can’t see any rank insignia upon you, knight, and I have a sergeant’s feather. And we’re still part of the same Order, so shut up and listen!”

She kept glaring at Somerset until he yanked his hand out. He lowered his zweihänder, sword point down, and turned to Cayla, silent.

“Look who we got here,” the girl brigand said. “A cocky shithead. Ruffled his feathers and thinks everbody’s oughta bow before him!” she spat on the ground.

“Hey, Cayla, whaddya say we take this knight aside and open his guts?” came a gruff voice from the side. “Let’s see how he prances then.”

“Pawn him off to the Butchers,” another one suggested. “Maybe they’ll get stuffed and finally piss off!”

“Quiet, you!” the hooded crossbowman shouted. “Don’t get testy.”

“Hey, knight,” the big guy with a club said, grinning. “If you’re itching for a fight that bad, maybe we have a talk, man to man? We beat each other with a fist, no blood spilled, everybody’s happy.”

“Better fight me in an honorable duel,” Somerset responded. “When my honor is at stake, I fight to the death.”

Ramilda poked him with an elbow.

“Stop this, they’re provoking you.”

“Just stay quiet, Somerset,” Katsumoto uttered. “Stay quiet, or you’ll end up badly.”

Meanwhile, the big guy exchanged glances with their leader.

“You heard, Cayla? He’s asking for it.”

“Don’t bother, Hubert,” she grimaced, shaking her head. “Don’t sully your club with this wimp. He’s already got little to no brain, you’re just gonna blow out all that’s left. He keeps pushing it – stuff him with bolts, but don’t touch the rest.”

This was something Ramilda herself couldn’t take. She looked at Xendric and took a step forward, both of her hands in the air.

“Cayla! Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but I talked some sense into one of ours, and you reason with yours! We don’t need to spill any blood here. But we are one fellowship, and Somerset is my sworn battle brother. And anyone who touches him will have to deal with me! So let’s settle down on no bloodshed at all!”

Several brigands laughed again, someone gave a whistle.

“Look at you, brave one,” Hubert chuckled.

“Have it your way, red feather,” Cayla nodded, crossing her arms. “You all heard? Don’t you touch nobody! Now hush! Grown-ups talking. Go ahead, sorcerer.”

Ramilda stepped back, blushing. She was ashamed of Somerset, ashamed of herself, and of the whole situation. She knew one thing: had it been anyone but Cayla, someone less sensible and cooperative, the entire party would be lying on the cobblestones in their own blood, and no merchant would ever save them. Somerset’s quirks crossed the line and almost screwed everyone – Swann was doubly ashamed of the fact that he was her sworn brother, and she couldn’t shut him down in time, couldn’t save him from a mindless stunt. Now, she was convinced that all of it, disobeying orders included, was part of one big recklessness.

“Look,” Xendric spoke. “You say you had troubles with a party just like ours in the past. Maybe you could tell us what exactly it was?”

“And what do you care? You want to go ring the bells – you go on your way then.”

“We can help you _solve_ these problems.”

“Solve?’ Are you taking us for pushovers? We let you in now, and then you betray us as soon as things get hairy.”

“The people that came before us – did they betray you?”

“They did, because you glorified cutthroats are one and the same. All you care about is souls, and how to squeeze a fat profit.”

“Allow me to retort,” Xendric pointed at the merchant. “We met this gentleman in the Uptown and agreed to escort him. We delivered him here, safe and sound, even though we could easily rob him and pocket all his wares. And then we could kill him for a ‘fat profit’ in souls, as you put it. Nevertheless, your merchant is alive, and we escorted him to you without a scratch. Don’t we deserve at least a little bit of trust here?”

The merchant looked at Cayla and nodded.

“It’s true. They helped me out a bunch. If I were you, I’d listen to them.”

The brigand girl stared at him for several seconds, then nodded.

“So what actually happened?” the sorcerer asked.

Cayla sighed deeply.

“They came to us – came in peace, they said. And we helped them out, gave them shelter. Hoped we could gang up together, help each other. Then these cunts sold out to Big Ralph and led… the Goathorn into the orchards!”

“The Goathorn? Don’t you happen to have a demon incursion on your hands?”

“What do you think? ‘Course we do! He’s prancing about picking up fucking flowers,” she spat again. “He’s now holed up in the orangery with his pack of dogs, ain’t no way in without a fight. We lost three good guys already, and several more got roughed up real bad. So go figure if you’ll fold before the demon or not.”

“I think that right now you are in a difficult position. You’ve lost some men, and you likely don’t want to lose even more. I reckon you could use some help, and we are definitely ready to provide it. If we need to prove our good intentions somehow, what’s wrong with taking this opportunity? You see, we could certainly use _your_ help in the future, and if we must prove ourselves first, then let it be.”

Cayla nodded grimly, twitching her lips.

“Alright. Listen to me now. You’ll come with us and talk to the chief. You’ll be talking to Dorian. He’ll see what you’re made of. And don’t do anything funny! Anyone grabs a weapon – I’ll gut them myself!” she turned and pivoted her finger in the air. “Let’s go, guys! Keep an eye on these freaks! Enzo, watch the knight.”

“You got this,” the hooded crossbowman responded, looking intently at Somerset.

The procession moved forward. The brigands remained on high alert and kept silent for the most part. They definitely knew what they were doing: they called out to the observers sweeping the back alleys and checked the empty houses. Ramilda walked by Somerset’s side; she swore she won’t let him lash out again. On one occasion, she looked at the morose marksman who was walking within several paces of them.

“Enzo, right?”

“What do you want?” the brigand glowered at her.

“The three guys you’ve lost – did they go hollow?”

“Yeah.”

“The people who did this – who was their commander?”

The marksman sighed and lingered, evidently not in the mood to talk.

“Bryce Ferguson, some mercenary. You see a big bald guy in plate armor armed with a polehammer – that’s the one. There was a fire warlock and other riff-raff with him, didn’t remember the names.”

“How long ago?”

“Three weeks almost. No idea where they are now.”

Ramilda nodded silently. She hadn’t heard the name before, but she took a mental note for herself.

Soon, they arrived to their destination. A real barricade with a crude watchtower barred the passage to the block – a marksman sitting there called out to the returning party. They started unloading the cart with the firewood right there. From inside the block, Ramilda could see that several more barricades fenced off the outer alleys, guards stationed everywhere in this improvised fort. The houses on the block looked less shabby, even well maintained, though some of them appeared to be half-empty.

They were met by people, men and women, traces of hollowing on many of their faces. Some were deeply scarred by the Curse and looked like lepers. The looks on their faces were hostile and distrustful, but there was no sense of disorder and anarchy typical for a brigands’ den. Ramilda quickly realized that these people, for the most part, were ordinary civilians who carried on despite the Curse. Many were armed, but that was to be expected in a town where life resembled hell. It all smacked of a pretty normal community – except it was perpetually under siege. This was likely one of the few safe havens in the entire town. Given that the Curse has been looming over Lordran for half a millennium, fueling the chaos, it was easy to understand why the locals didn’t much like outsiders.

They stopped by a three-story half-timbered house – a pretty narrow one, just like all the other buildings crammed tightly together. Cayla turned to the new arrivals and announced the following:

“Listen up! Dorian will speak with you now! You leave all weapons outside, no exceptions, understand? Leave all weapons with Hubert! That goes to you too, sorc.”

Hubert rested his club against the wall and flopped onto a barrel by the entrance. He crossed his legs and gestured at the guests.

“Alright, one at a time.”

Xendric was the first to give up his staff, sword and dagger. Ramilda and Ryu followed suit, leaving their helmets, too. As Mendes gave up his axes, he spoke slowly with his distinctive accent:

“Hey, Hubert. You say you’re good with your fists?”

“What, you wanna see for yourself?” he grinned, cracking his knuckles.

“Let us have a round of fisticuffs after we talk! You are a strong warrior – I will gladly fight you. You challenged Somerset. _I_ accept the challenge.”

“Now we’re talking! I see you’re the real deal, swarthy one,” Hubert opened his large hand. “Deal.”

“Deal,” the gladiator shook his hand.

“What’s your name?”

“Mendes.”

“Outstanding. When Dorian’s finished with you, go out back, we’ll have a scrap right there.”

“Agreed,” the gladiator smiled, stepping aside.

Somerset didn’t move and was clearly in no hurry to give up his two-handed sword. Ramilda looked at him, befuddled.

“I won’t give up my weapons,” the knight stated.

“The hell you say?” Cayla uttered.

“I won’t give up my weapons. I don’t trust you.”

“Lay down your crowbar now, scumbag!”

“No,” Somerset parried. “First you must apologize and stop insulting me. You are all thieves and murderers, and I will not relinquish my knightly sword.”

Faster than he managed to say one more word, Ramilda walked up to him, grabbed the knight by the collar of his blue surcoat and dragged him away. He didn’t expect the sheer vigor of her move, and she slammed him into the wall. Barely holding back, she looked him in the eye ferociously.

“Stop right now!” she fired away, not letting him go. “You insufferable fool! Calm down and stop disgracing yourself and the Knights of Astora!”

“Me? _I_ am disgracing the Knights!?” Somerset stared at her, genuinely taken aback. “Ramilda, wake up! These people strip us of our dignity, and you suggest I sacrifice the knight’s honor? Our brothers gave up their lives for it, and you tell me to suffer this humiliation?”

“I don’t suggest, I command you!” she yelled. “You are the only one stripping yourself of dignity here!”

The brigands came alive at the sight of the quarrel.

“Look at that, the redhead is on fire!”

“Hey, girl, leave your knight to us, we’ll have a talk with him!”

“Should we find a priest for ya? Some couple, I swear to gods!”

They laughed, but Cayla hushed them with a yell. Ramilda turned, glaring at the jokers.

“And you stay the hell out of this! It is none of your business! You lay a finger on him – I’ll beat you to a pulp, understand?”

“You hear what the redhead said?” Cayla shouted, smiling suddenly. “Don’t get rowdy.”

The brigands went quiet but kept smiling. Rami turned to Leighton. He tried to step away, but the knightess pushed him against the wall again.

“Stand down now,” she uttered. “Where is your discipline?”

“Where is your pride, sister? A knight will never give in to the bandits!”

“To hell with this pride!” Rami yelled. She was beside herself with fury. “If your bloody pride is so easily hurt, then it’s not worth a dime! You are acting like an entitled brat, not a knight!” she let go of Somerset and put a finger in his face. “I still remember what my father told me about you. He said that Somerset was the best of us! That he never let his brothers down and was an inspiration for them. But all I see is a boy, not a knight of Astora!”

“I am sorry you see it this way. It’s a pity that you forgot about honor – this is unbecoming of a knight. Aren’t you the one betraying the Order’s ideals here?”

“Stop this,” Rami cut him off with a forbidding gesture. “Give me your weapon.”

“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t and wouldn’t do this.”

“Give your weapon to the Order’s sergeant,” she insisted, stretching out her hand. “Or did you forget chain of command, too?”

There was a silence for a moment.

“Since you’ve allowed yourself to forget about the knight’s honor, I can’t obey your commands.”

“Is that so?” Rami sighed, lowering her voice, and looked at Somerset from underneath her brow. She had a choice to make, and normally she would have to escalate this to instill her authority once and for all, but she had a hunch it was a lost cause, given the circumstances. “Fine then. Can I at least count on you to sit tight and not make any trouble?”

“If you want this, sister.”

“I’ll see to it,” Mendes said, approaching Rami and looking her in the eye. He nodded at her reassuringly, and she patted him on the shoulder with a hint of a smile. Glancing at Leighton, she sighed and headed to Cayla. The brigand girl shook her head and showed them into the house.

“Hubert, you’re in charge,” she announced.

Dorian awaited them on the second floor. His room turned out to be a cozy study complete with a fireplace, a desk, and even some bookshelves – that was the last thing Ramilda expected to see. Near a nightstand by the fireplace stood a clean-shaven man past his prime, his gray hair in a neat ponytail, glasses on his nose – one more item in drastic contrast to the local style. He wore an embroidered yellow tunic with wide sleeves, its hem going below the knees, and a wine-colored maroon mantle with a big shoulder cape, as well as a sash on his waist. His attire resembled the traditional outfit of Vinheim sorcerers, except that of two hundred years ago, if Ramilda remembered correctly.

“Dorian,” Cayla said, closing the door behind her. “They told you already?”

“Yes, Adam has told me everything,” the chief said, raising his head. He had a pleasant voice, and his speech was well-trained and measured. “Are these the people you had met?”

“Yeah, it’s them alright. They wanted to talk with you. This here mage said they can help with the Goathorn.”

“Well, my thanks. I shall take it from here.”

He came forward, and all Ramilda’s doubts were over when she observed an azure ring with a dragon seal – the same as Xendric’s. His bow was polite, aristocratic even, and Dorian spoke:

“My greetings. I am Dorian, pleased to meet you.”

“Xendric,” the sorcerer bowed in response. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Ramilda and Ryu introduced themselves in turn. Meanwhile, Cayla backed off and leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching their every move.

“Please, sit,” Dorian showed them to the desk. “I must apologize, my furniture is quite modest, merely two chairs and a stool. But if you don’t mind, you may sit on a carpet near the fireplace.”

“Thank you, I’d rather stand,” Katsumoto replied. “I will let my companions do the talking.”

“May I offer you some herbal tea? The water has just boiled.”

“You are far too kind, Dorian,” Xendric smiled, sitting himself down. “I couldn’t possibly decline.”

“Wonderful,” the mage started pouring hot water from the kettle. “Again, I must apologize if the initial reception seemed unfairly rude and hostile to you. We had a particularly painful experience with a party just like yours, and I would like not to repeat my mistake, I hope you understand. We are essentially living under a semi-constant siege, so one has to be picky about friends and stingy with courtesy.”

“Oh, but of course, we understand the reservations your people have. We came to an agreement, that’s the point. I am sure we can come to an agreement with you as well. Always a pleasure to meet a colleague from the Dragon School, especially in a place like this.”

“Oh yes, the feeling is mutual, Xendric,” Dorian served the steaming cups and sat opposite his guests. “When did you graduate?”

“A little over forty years ago. And you?”

“Too long ago to remember,” Dorian chuckled, adjusting his glasses. “But if you’re interested in the precise number… two hundred and sixty-one years ago. Yes, I think that’s correct. I have little idea about the School’s outfit these days, but I assume my attire has long since gone out of style?”

“They dress in a slightly different way these days, yes. But classic has its own irresistible gloss, am I right?”

“Perhaps.”

Ramilda brought a steaming clay cup to her lips and took a sip. The aromatic drink had a pleasant warmth about it, leaving a tart aftertaste in the mouth. An herbal fragrance overcame her, calming the nerves, and the knightess slowly moved away from a nasty feeling that stayed with her after the altercation with Somerset. Xendric kept talking.

“Forgive me the question I’m about to ask, but I think I recognize you. I saw a portrait very similar to you on engravings in several compendia. Aren’t you, by any chance, Dorian Engelbert? If I remember correctly, he went missing just as he departed for Lordran, quite famously.”

The study’s owner smiled and raised his hands theatrically.

“I throw myself at your mercy; you are not mistaken. Yes, my family name is indeed Engelbert. I’m pleased to hear the School still remembers me. I would be interested to inquire as to the fate of my treatises, but that can wait,” he glanced at Ryu and Ramilda, lingering on her blue surcoat with a golden crest. “I heard you were offering help.”

“You heard right,” Xendric nodded, sipping the tea. “As far as I understand, you have a difficult situation on your hands, and solidarity in this… chaos can go very far. For us, things will be very difficult without help, especially without information. Because of that, since we’re here, we want to prove our good intentions.”

“My understanding is, you wish to get to the Bells of Awakening?”

“Precisely. It’s an arduous task, as you know.”

“M-hm. Alright then. In this case, I will explain our predicament to you,” Dorian cleared his throat and locked his fingers together. “You see, recently a demon of Izalith appeared in our town. In essence, it is only natural; demons often spring up within these walls, and one of them had even occupied the towers by the gate.”

“You mean the ones by the big bridge?” Ramilda asked.

“Yes. A Taurus demon, if the classification concerns you. Somehow, the gate attracted him, so he occupied a segment of the walls over there and doesn’t let anyone through. He killed many people trying to reach the Parish. Just as the red wyvern, you must’ve heard of it already.”

“And what about your demon?” Xendric inquired. “Your people call him ‘Goathorn.”

“A Capra demon, as you may have guessed. Are you familiar with this type of demons, Ramilda?”

“Yes. Average-sized, pretty much always armed with melee weapons – something like elite fighters in Izalith. I encountered one of those in my line of duty.”

“You are exactly correct. Then you probably know that they are often loners trying to capture territory. One of those came to the Lower Burg. He also has a pack of plague dogs with him. Many have suffered because of him, our people included, and he tried encroaching on our territory. When the previous band came here, one commanded by a soldier named Ferguson, they too were asking for help. They’ve been looking for ways to reach the lower bell. We agreed that they, in turn, would help us get rid of the Capra. But, on the day we set upon tracking him together, Big Ralph and his people approached Ferguson.”

“One of the gang leaders, right?” Xendric asked.

“Exactly. I suppose, he is our major adversary, and the only one who can truly harm this community. He proposed a bargain to Ferguson. The thing is, we had an orchard in the next block – an orangery, courtesy of yours truly. As you know, the food situation is dismal here; most are content with Estus and even souls, but we have no Fire Keepers of our own, and so, our bonfires can only give so much. Because of that, many years ago we captured an old mansion that had a garden in its front yard. It’s one of the few places in the Lower Burg with enough light for the greenery to grow well. That was when we obtained a variety of seeds and repurposed the garden for an orchard. And so, Ralph proposed a bargain to our previous guests: he gives them a big prize, they engage the demon and bait him into going into the orangery, and then help him cut our people down, staying mostly out of his sight. Which is exactly what happened,” he nodded at his protégé. “Thanks to Cayla, our people retreated in time, and we’ve sustained fewer casualties than we could have. Yet, the betrayal was all too sudden, so several people hollowed, alas. Now this demon is holed up in our orchard, and we have no access there. Any attempt at winning it back will cost us a lot, but it is imperative we recover our food source. We decided to wait, hoping we could seize a moment when the demon goes somewhere, but he is thoroughly entrenched. Almost three weeks already.”

“I see,” Xendric dragged. “And I suppose you don’t want to lose even more people, since Ralph can exploit your any weakness.”

“Right. In addition, it’s difficult to approach the mansion. We would have to attack in big numbers, and we _will_ sustain casualties, meanwhile Big Ralph is watching our every move. Which is why a small group of capable fighters like you would be more fitting for the task. We have our own elite too, but, since you’ve taken it upon yourself…”

“I understand,” the Carimian nodded and looked at his companions. “I suppose we could handle a Capra demon with the right approach?”

“Yes,” Katsumoto nodded.

“We could,” Ramilda echoed. “Dorian, could you draw a rough outline of the mansion and streets around it?”

“Gladly. In this case, let us discuss the terms of our agreement. I propose the following: you, on your own, help us get rid of the Capra demon and take back the orangery. In exchange, we offer you shelter in case you would need it and show you the safe passage to the bridge, bypassing the Taurus demon. In addition, we can provide rough schematics of the sewers and guide you to certain entrances we have access to. Through them, you will be able reach Blighttown. As a guarantee, I will ask you all to link with our bonfire – a simple precaution, you understand. Would these terms satisfy you?”

“Absolutely,” Xendric nodded, his lips twisted. “A rather beneficial proposal. Everybody agree?” they answered positively. “We agree, Dorian. If you don’t mind, we will get down to it tomorrow; I wasted almost all of my energy fighting in the Upper Burg, so right now I am essentially an empty vessel.”

“Of course. Well, I’m glad to hear this. Hope it all goes well. I see you have a knight of Astora who has some experience with demons,” he smiled at Ramilda politely. “And you, Xendric, seem to be knowledgeable about them, too. I suppose you wish to get settled somehow?”

“If you can accommodate us.”

“Certainly. If you have any more questions for me, feel free to ask.”

“If you don’t mind, I would like to stay behind and have a conversation with you. I reckon we definitely have a lot to talk about, or we could get all nostalgic about our alma mater,” the sorcerer chuckled.

“You may talk your soul away as much as you wish, Xendric,” Dorian smiled. “And what about you?”

“Getting settled is not a bad thing at all,” Ramilda said. “Ryu and I will see to it that the rest keep order. Thank you for the tea.”

“You are welcome. Cayla, please, take our guests to the bonfire and provide blankets and places to sleep for them.”

“Alright,” she nodded, stepping away from the wall. “Let’s go.”

“Good luck, Xendric,” Rami said, getting on her feet. “Talk to you later.”

“Most definitely.”

She bowed her head, bidding Dorian goodbye, and he mirrored the gesture. An agreement was reached, and the crisis was seemingly over. Now, they only had to make sure nobody does anything stupid for the rest of the day. Ramilda was a little wary of a provocation on the brigands’ part, but Cayla seemed to keep them in check, and the knightess hoped it will remain so. Somerset could be handled at least. She had to give him a thorough dressing down. Rami was still not sure what she felt about the knight; a sense of great deception kept nagging at her. Her father, the kind soul that he was, never told her lies, though she suspected he could embellish a story or two – or at least not tell her the _whole_ truth. But the real Somerset hardly lived up to the image formed by her father’s tales. Right now, she couldn’t tell if that image was embellished by him on purpose, or if it was the Curse that played a sick joke on the knight. And if it did, just how sick of a joke was it…?

When they went outside, Cayla raised her palm and announced:

“Dorian struck a bargain! They will stay with us and link with the bonfire! Tomorrow they are gonna fight the demon in the orangery!” she was interrupted by cheering. “Enzo, take two or three guys and look after them, then switch. Everyone else dismissed!”

Mendes slapped his knees and stood up, then approached Hubert.

“You ready, soldier?”

“Totally,” the big guy stood up as well, looking down at the gladiator.

“Come.”

“Let’s go and watch the scrap, guys!” Cayla called out, and most brigands tagged along, just as Ramilda, Ryu, Somerset, and several other people did.

Followed by the spectators, the fighters turned the corner and walked into a small empty yard. The space of the ‘arena’ was not marked in any way, and the onlookers simply stood along the walls, forming a circle. Mendes, having put his weapons aside, put his arms on his hips and gazed upon the fighting space, a sour look on his face.

“So, where’s the arena you promised? Can’t see anything but dirt.”

The onlookers reacted with an approving “Oooooh!” Hubert grinned.

“That’ll do fine for ya. We don’t like sand here, we have it rough. You’ll soon taste this dirt when I drag you through it.”

Another round of cheers, somebody whistled. Mendes twisted his lips in a laugh.

“Watch out, or the dirt clouds your eyes.”

The bouncer stretched his neck, cracked his knuckles and assumed a fighting stance.

“Let’s do this.”

The gladiator nodded. The audience fell silent. For some time, the combatants stood still, assessing each other, and then Mendes ran forward and punched from the right. Hubert blocked it easily, throwing out his large fist – Mendes would eat the dirt if he took this hit. The gladiator was so fast he didn’t even defend himself, simply evading the strike, and immediately counter-attacked. They exchanged several blows, Hubert went for a series of rapid attacks and punched Mendes in the gut as he opened. The Korasani retreated, and the spectators came alive, cheering for their fighter. Amidst the noise, the loud voice of Katsumoto was heard:

“Let him have it, Mendes!”

Ramilda wanted to cheer on her companion as well, but couldn’t find the words. Hubert pressed the attack, using his height and weight to his advantage – Mendes had to constantly cover his head. The gladiator gave him a little ground, then found an opportunity and socked his opponent in the jaw with a stunning counterblow. The public gasped. Hubert recoiled, and Mendes didn’t press him in order to catch a breath.

“Nailed him!” Ramilda yelled. “Get this son of a bitch!”

Hubert spat blood and returned into the fight. They exchanged several blows again, staying in measure. Hubert made it look like he was stepping to the left, but changed direction abruptly, throwing a punch. Mendes wheeled his entire body around, diving under the punch. And then he uncurled rapidly and nailed Hubert in the head with a right hook.

He didn’t bounce back this time. Staggering off to the side, he stood on his feet for a second, and then fell over, eating the dust he promised to feed the gladiator with. The crowd wailed, vexed and frustrated.

“Yes!” Ramilda threw her fist in the air. “Good job, Mendes! Attaboy! You gave him the what for!”

Someone threw an insult, but no aggression followed in response to Mendes’ victory. Cayla applauded him.

“Now we’re talking!” she said loudly, and the rest calmed down. “At least one of these freaks has got the guts!”

Several people laughed. Mendes, a fist in his palm, thanked the onlookers with a bow and walked towards Hubert immediately. He grabbed his hand and helped the bouncer pick himself up. Hubert slapped him on the shoulder with a laugh.

“What a punch you have! Well done. Argh, quiet you!” he roared at the rest. “He slew me fair and square.”

“You are a good sport,” Mendes said. “But your defense is lacking. Swinging your fists like flails – that’s no way!”

He jokingly punched Hubert in the shoulder, and he returned the gesture.

“If one of these flails all but grazed your mug, you’d be lying in the dust like a dead doggo. Alright, since you beat me, I’ll treat you to some booze we found the other day. Let’s go, guys! Ain’t gonna get smashed with Estus!”

He was supported with a round of cheers. Cayla nodded, satisfied.

Soon, the party was bound to the bonfire, and the brigand girl led them to the second floor of a half-empty house. There was no furniture at all, but at least the room was not drafty, with the walls and the ceiling intact.

“Fall down wherever you want,” she said, waving her hand carelessly. “They’ll soon bring you mats and blankets. Don’t leave the block and don’t loiter outside if you don’t need to. Anybody wants to punch you in the face ‘cause your mug is too ugly – it’s gonna be your problem. Anyone gets rowdy or grabs a weapon – we’ll beat you. Badly.”

Without saying goodbye, she walked out to mind her own business. Ramilda hesitated for a moment but then decided it was the right time to pluck her for a talk. She caught up with the girl downstairs and hailed her:

“Cayla!”

“Whatcha want, redhead?” she turned to her, a mix of annoyance and disaffection on her face.

“Let’s talk a little.”

“If that’s about your doofus, don’t sweat it,” she waved her hand. “It’s gonna be fine. Just keep him close, and I’ll make sure nobody rips his head off.”

“No, _that_ we’re gonna sort out somehow,” Ramilda sighed. “Just wanted to have a word with you. Ask a couple of things.”

“Go ahead, ask,” she leaned against the wall in her typical pose.

“How long have you been in this community here?”

Cayla shrugged.

“Five, six years perhaps. What of it?”

“Just got interested how a feisty lass like you came to command this crowd,” she smiled slightly. “You’re Dorian’s second here, right?”

“Sort of. Well, it just happened this way. When you gotta beat the shit out of some scumbag every other day, you get used to it, like it or not. You learn to survive. It’s all simple here – either kill or be killed. So you gotta win the guys’ trust. And for that, you gotta be strong and never bend.”

“Didn’t they mind you being a girl?”

“Course they did. They had a different ringleader before, Ulbert. Was the one who took me in. Clever man, dependable. Went missing three years ago. And it just so happened I stepped into his shoes. Not everyone recognized me at first, of course. But I gave them the what for.”

“I can respect that. Were you not born here?”

“Nah, I was, but my home was the South Quarter. That jerk Ralph is rooted there now. He actually became a big shot there when I was little.”

“I see. And how old are you?”

“Don’t know. A little over twenty, I guess. Not much sense in keeping tabs here. You stop aging ‘cause of the Curse anyway. Hubert is actually about forty, but hey, he doesn’t look that much. Everyone here is pretty much born with a Darksign.”

Ramilda shook her head.

“Can’t even imagine how you manage to survive out here. Seems to be alright on Dorian’s block at least, but otherwise it’s pretty bad, I imagine.”

“Yeah, it sucks. These constant little wars for territory… Everyone’s killing, robbing, some choose to gang up, some do it alone. We kill too, when we need to – gotta protect our own. Dorian’s been here for a very long time. They say almost two hundred years. Can’t even imagine that long.”

“Is he a good leader?”

“A ‘good’ one? I’m gonna give my life for him. I owe everything to the man – and all our guys do. So you should be happy he took you in. He’s a good man with his head on straight. So it’s not bad at all, living with him. Rest of the town is shitty, yeah. Always one step away from getting stabbed in a back alley. You get killed a couple of times, you go hollow, and there you are, rotting in a ditch.”

“Is it true about the cannibal Butchers?”

Cayla nodded.

“Yeah, they grabbed a couple of our guys, shit happens. You get lost somewhere, separated from your friends, and that’s it.”

“I assume you were trained with weapons since you were little?”

“Yeah. The hell do you care?” she squinted and let out a distrustful laugh. “You’re asking as if you’re snooping around.”

“I’m not snooping. I just want to chat and get to know you a little bit,” Ramilda smiled. “In the end, we’re both girls who took up arms and fought our way up, eh?”

“Ha, that’s right. Just don’t think you can sweet-talk me into getting all… benevolent and stuff.”

“I don’t. I’m not in the habit of flattering. It’s just that I know it firsthand, too. I am a sergeant in the Knights, but before I got the appointment, I’ve eaten more than enough crap from some people. So I had to be heads above the rest. I imagine you know exactly how it feels.”

“Well, maybe so. I had good teachers. A master thief took me under his wing when I was still a little brat. Jasper the Viper. He was the best in the Lower Burg, everybody feared him – Ralph, too, even Dorian did. You know, pops could handle himself too, and he taught me a couple of things, but he was no Jasper. So when he was no more, I tagged along with the Viper – my mom perished even earlier. He was the real master. Taught me how to hit with a knife, where to hit, how to make stashes, shelters, who to hang out with and who better not to look in the eye. Thief things, you know. And then Ralph decided to get rid of the Viper, but he picked the wrong guy.”

“Thought he was too big of a threat?”

“Course. He knew if he didn’t get the Viper, he’ll get kicked off his throne. So the teacher and I had to fight. The two of us dropped ten guys, all because of the right place. But Jasper was killed there and went hollow,” Cayla paused, as if gathering her thoughts. It seemed some painful memories stirred within her, memories she wasn’t fond of. “Finished him myself when I met him later. And he was just as good. Sort of a last exam, you know,” she chuckled. “And then I gathered some loyal ones and went to Dorian. Been living here ever since. Who was your teacher?”

“My father. He was a knight, too.”

“Got a cushy place for his little girl then?”

“You think you would be here without Jasper?” Ramilda parried. “We were all helped by someone, somewhere. We are worthy on our own, but nobody makes themselves alone.”

Cayla smacked her lips.

“True, sister. True.”

“Father really _was_ an important man in the Knights. When I joined them after he died, his reputation helped me, can’t argue with that. And there were people out there who helped me too, but my place? I won it with skill, not boot licking.”

“You got pride, that’s a good thing.”

“I prefer to call it dignity.”

“As you say,” the brigand girl sneered. “Them smart words, I swear… What about your loudmouth friend? He got ‘dignity’ too?”

“I am no judge, and neither are you. Maybe he’s off the rocker a little, but anyone touch him – they’re gonna have to deal with me.”

Cayla nodded with approval.

“Well, you go get the demon, then we’ll see what’s what.”

“Yeah, about that. You’ve seen him, right? What should we expect?”

“He’s got a pack of dogs. Five of them, at least. We killed some while retreating. He’s also got two big swords and swings like a mill. You blink and you’re dead. The scumbags that came before you – they weaseled out and stabbed us in the back. We lost three guys for good, and some are half-hollow now.”

“And what do you do with those who hollow?”

Cayla shrugged.

“We try and carry them while we can. In other quarters, you hollow too much – they banish you. Hollows get no mercy here.”

“Even your friends?”

“Silly you,” Cayla smiled. “They’re not people anymore. This is not a friend you once knew and trusted. It’s just a husk. And you gotta get rid of this chaff, end of story.”

“Yeah, I get that. I meant those for whom there is still hope.”

“Depends. Sometimes it’s easier to just finish it, rather than try and carry – not much humanity to go around. Not much hope either, really. Some can feel it when the end is near – they simply go away on their own and never return. At least they’re somewhat useful this way – they kill a couple of hollows or plague dogs before they get mauled. Pops went to die this way. One of my friends did, too,” Cayla seemingly spoke with nary a hint of pity, but something changed inexplicably in her expression as she remembered her father and friend. “Yeah. Then you look at that huckster, heh. Seen his mug?”

Rami nodded.

“We all grabbed our blades at first.”

“No kidding. And yet, he’s sane, go figure. Hell knows why he didn’t go nuts yet,” the girl laughed. “He’s a sly dog. Knows every alley, every hatch in town. Damn burglar… Well, who’s not a thief here? You only spare your own from getting robbed. That’s life.”

“He probably still has a purpose in life. And it keeps him sane.”

“Yeah, probs. He had his share of scrapes. They say he fell through the floor once. Got stuck in a hole with rats, big ones. Well, he crawled out of this hole, the rats didn’t.”

“Is there any truth to these stories?”

Cayla shrugged with a smile.

“Who knows. I would believe them. Had my own holes to crawl out of. And the merchant can wag his tongue, too, because here you are.”

“Yeah, he’s not too eager to stick his head out.”

“That’s why he’s still alive.”

“Alive, yeah,” Ramilda sighed. “You know, I’m really glad that they call such people ‘alive’ around here. Out there, in the big world… We’re all dead to them.”

“I don’t care,” Cayla scoffed. “Nobody asked for their opinion. You have it easy without the Curse out there. I bet you didn’t even think of how it feels to be undead before you got the Sign.”

The knightess said nothing at first. In that life, past life, she wasn’t as indifferent to the undead plight as Cayla probably thought, but right now, Rami was in no position to make excuses. The brigand girl was right about one thing though: only when Ramilda turned undead did she fully realize the consequences.

“Life is hard out there too,” she finally replied. “Especially for the undead. Here, all of you are cursed since you are born, and it’s the same lot for everyone, but there… if you turn undead, you lose _all_ your friends and _all_ the life that you knew. And absolutely everything you lived for just vanishes like this,” she snapped her fingers. “Can you imagine how I felt? And all of them?”

Cayla looked at her silently from under her brow, weighing the words she spoke, and then nodded, looking away.

“The world is cruel, sister,” she said. “Now, you’ve had a taste of it.”

“At least in your case, you have a leader.”

“Oh yeah. Dorian is a smart man. He’s not some ragamuffin who only cares about conquering another block, no. The orangery was his idea. It’s quite a story how they got the seeds back in the day. A few years ago, we went as far as the foothills to get some new ones. Not everyone returned, but… you gotta make an effort for your own.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Rami smiled. “He’s like a father to you, eh?”

By the look on her face, the brigand girl didn’t expect that question.

“Yeah. He stands for us all.”

“Looks like you have a good role model then,” the knight smiled again. “Alright, thanks for the talk. Gotta go get my gear in order.”

Cayla nodded with a twisted smile.

“So long. Good luck tomorrow.”

“Thanks.”

They parted ways, and Ramilda walked upstairs. There was a warm feeling on her mind. She had to mend her arming doublet and whet the sword blade before they move out to the orangery tomorrow. Looks like killing demons became their vocation.


	4. The Guiding Thread

_My lord!_

_I write to inform you that the “turncoat’s” story proved to be true. I worked him successfully and managed to extract some information from the priest. The “turncoat” does not appear to be interested in monetary compensation, nor is he enticed with promises of fiefs or titles. He is willing to cooperate on grounds of morality alone, which makes the situation simpler and more difficult at the same time. The issue of “holy missions” troubles him deeply, and the state of things is such that he cannot stay silent about it anymore. He is cautious, however, and is looking for those who could protect him in case the Way of White decides to silence him. He wants to make sure that the people he trusts with this intelligence are truly going to do something with this, and that they possess the required power and influence. I was able to convince him we are genuinely interested, but he requests a sign of good will for further exchange of information, which I will touch upon later._

_The priest informed me that the Way of White’s expeditions to Lordran truly are a front, but not for obtaining ancient relics and artifacts, like we were inclined to think. None of these expeditions were successful in all these hundreds of years. We used to think that, while part of them perished inevitably, several managed to return “empty-handed”, enriching the Church with looted valuables. If the priest’s allegations are to be believed, however, **nobody** had returned from these expeditions. They are a part of one big repressive mechanism – and it is not only meant to dispose of the undead within their ranks. Any voice of dissent within the clergy threatening the status quo runs the risk of being assigned to those who seek the Rite of Kindling. The expeditions are deliberately designed in such a way that they are doomed to fail._

_That could explain why we were unable to find any living participant of these expeditions so far. The parties are too small, they have too few resources, and they venture into the most dangerous place on earth to accomplish an impossible task. Often, they include people who have no idea that this mechanism exists; they are naïve believers who were deemed disposable, or the powers that be decided to dispose of them in advance because of their dangerous tendencies. Some unscrupulous clerics actively abuse this mechanism to slander their opponents and force them into “perpetual exile”. The priest is inclined to think that the Rite of Kindling itself is merely a hoax. If he is to be believed, many cardinals consider it a fabrication, too. After more than 300 years of expeditions, the Rite of Kindling has turned into a fairy tale, but it is unknown if there is, indeed, some ultimate secret behind it._

_According to the “turncoat”, he has been compiling lists of names of those who departed on these expeditions for a long time now. He also collected evidence of how this repressive mechanism works. What is more important, he is allegedly harboring a **real** participant of one of the recent expeditions who managed to make it back from Lordran, unbeknownst to the Church. The priest said he was ready to provide us with more information if we agree to grant asylum to him and his protégé, as well as to do something with this intelligence. I let him go and promised we would meet again._

_I am sure he really is who he claims to be. Either that, or he is an exceptionally good provocateur planted by the Way of White to play the spy game with us. Allow me to outline my considerations. Firstly, even if the priest is not a provocateur, that doesn’t exclude the possibility that the Way of White is aware of his dealings and is preparing a trap to snatch their own dissident and expose our agents, thus gaining leverage against us. Secondly, it appears to me that his evidence, while shocking, is hardly valuable for our case. We expected to catch the Whites red-handed, to expose an enrichment scheme under the guise of holy missions. Instead, in the absence of such schemes, the Church will be able to dismiss any allegations of purges within its ranks and make it seem like they are simply ousting the unholy. I believe that this dirt is not enough to compromise their positions. As tempting as this opportunity is, I would suggest leaving this contact behind and trying to find a different approach, so as not to risk the cause. The final judgement, however, is yours, my lord. I await your further instructions._

_A._

***

It was only now that Xendric found himself thinking something peculiar. Even here, at the heart of the accursed land where death and decay reigned, birds were singing by the window. Nature didn’t care in the slightest about the human plight, about the sheer extent of their downfall. And as he and Dorian were sitting in the study, talking and sipping fragrant tea, it would seem that nothing has essentially changed. That the world out there, beyond the window, was still the same. That there was no Curse, no hollows, no wars for territory, no grand ruins of antiquity, no trace of the catastrophe at all. But _that_ world was left too far behind. Here, it was dangerous to indulge in illusions. Even if they were rather attractive.

“I don’t even know how to ask,” the Carimian spoke after a pause. “Naturally, you may not answer at all if the question seems tactless to you… but how did it happen that you remained here for two hundred years?”

“Well… as you probably know, I came here looking for answers. I did find some, but I was unable to unravel the mystery of the Curse. When I arrived here, the situation was almost the same as it is now. Everything had already collapsed by then, and as soon as I jumped into this pit, there was nobody to pull me back out,” Dorian shrugged with a smile. “I was unlucky and died in the wake of chaos. And then I rose with a Darksign on my body. In essence, it was nothing out of the ordinary – you are unlikely to find a person untouched by the Curse here, in Lordran. So, I realized there was no going back for me. And then, in time, I got together with certain people, and we decided to help each other. Many years have passed since then, and this community is not my first. I dwelled in an entirely different place before. But some of those who I met back then are still around, and I am lucky to have them. Very few of them remained, alas. And, well… to sum it up, one could say that, after a certain point, I no longer wished to return. To what end? Out there, in our lands of birth, we are hunted down like wolves…”

“That’s right. The hunt is conducted on a large scale these days – I myself used to be quarry,” Xendric chuckled. “At least you were spared the imprisonment.”

“Yes. In addition, there are people here who are dear to me. And as long as I breathe and walk this earth, I will help them no matter what. We’ll see what happens next.”

“Pretty reasonable,” Xendric nodded. “I’m afraid there _is_ no way back for us. For now.”

“Indeed. All that remains is to try and build something with what we have.”

“Right. I heard that no attempt to fulfil the prophecy had succeeded yet?”

“You mean the attempts to ring the bells?”

“Yes.”

“You know, I had been seriously considering doing this at some point. But I could not find enough support, so I decided to sit tight for a while. Once, though, a certain someone did manage to ring both bells…”

“Really? And who was this lucky man?”

“One of the Knights of Berenike known as the Iron Tarkus. He was the last of his brotherhood and became… a sort of local celebrity. A hero, I would rather say. We knew each other. He traveled Lordran, helped the folks as best he could, including monster slaying. And he kept trying to find his way to the bells. If I were to tell what his most remarkable feature was, I would say ‘indomitable willpower’.

“The knight was nicknamed ‘Iron’ for a reason, I presume?” Xendric raised his eyebrow.

“Definitely. Soon after the Berenicians, the knight-king of Balder came here at the head of his host, and it was a disaster, too. By that time, Tarkus had already reached the lower bell, and then he assembled what was left of the Baldrians and fought his way to the upper one. And after that, he vanished after storming Sen’s Fortress, and nobody saw him ever since.”

“Sen’s Fortress?”

“It is a citadel that once prefaced the passage to Anor Londo. But the main gate to the city was hopelessly blocked with boulders long ago. And I have little idea what happened to Tarkus after the citadel. The party that was here before you also tried to follow the ‘path of the prophecy’. They are a formidable bunch, just like you. What happened between us was a… nasty business.”

“Yeah, how unfortunate. But I believe we can find some common ground with you, Dorian. And thanks for seeing it fit to trust us. Not everybody would in your position. It is sad when you can’t trust your neighbor.”

Dorian nodded.

“What about you, Xendric? You have hope that there is some truth to the prophecy?”

“Well… hope or not, you must admit: what else is there to do in this predicament, honestly? It’s better than doing nothing.”

“For you, maybe. I could invite you to stay here, try and make ends meet together. But I suspect this is not for you,” Engelbert smiled slightly.

“Well,” Xendric laughed, “if I survive, I might as well accept your invitation. My companions and I have seen our share of trials and tribulations. Although, I shouldn’t have to tell this to you.”

“Perhaps. Where are you from, Xendric?”

“I’m from Carim. Served at the court of Duke Arstor. Maybe you heard of him?”

“Oh, naturally. It was told to me that the cult of Velka has spread there considerably over the last few years, is that so?”

“Quite considerably, yes. But I’d rather have the cult of Velka than the Curse. At least they offer absolution to everyone.”

“Hm, I’m inclined to agree. I did see one of Velka’s pardoners here. He walked up towards the bridge recently. Not sure what became of him after that. His name was Oswald.”

“Hm, curious. And what niche exactly do the pardoners occupy here? Though I reckon Lordran is full of sin, which means there is always a niche for them…”

“Precisely. So, did you become a court mage right after the academy?”

“Almost. I didn’t stay long within the walls of the Dragon School.”

“In this case, would you be so kind as to indulge my curiosity? The Oswald I mentioned told me many interesting things about Duke Arstor. They say he engaged in creating magical artifacts and even excelled at this, is it true?”

“One could say so, yes. Not without the help of yours truly.”

“Is that so? So you assisted him in his dark experimentations?”

“Why the word ‘dark’? The nature of experimentations can vary greatly. Of course, I cannot vouch for _all_ the advisors of His Grace,” Xendric smiled pointedly.

“Any research requires venturing into the dark, lighting the way, doesn’t it?” Dorian returned the smile. “One could only imagine what could be found in the abyss…”

“Depends on how you look,” Xendric shrugged.

“From what I know, before the duke departed this mortal coil, he managed to create an array of very interesting… disposable artifacts, let’s call it that. ‘Purging Stones’, if I’m not mistaken. Allegedly, they can strongly reverse the effects of the Curse. But there is a rumor that… something sinister was involved in creating those Stones. Do you happen to know anything about it?”

They looked each other in the eye intently. Xendric didn’t let on that he was slightly disturbed, but he felt something stir within. As if some strand of his restored memories, a strand he couldn’t seem to feel before, was now revealed. All of a sudden, he remembered distinctly that he _was,_ in fact, involved in creating the Purging Stones – and discussed their use against the Curse with Arstor. Right now, however, he could barely even remember the appearance of these Stones, let alone their properties.

Hollowing stood in his way of remembering the details of how they were created and what was happening in the process. But he had some deeper feeling that such artifacts could not work without _some_ darker powers involved. How exactly it manifested was still a mystery to the wizard. But the very thought that something eldritch was involved in their creation was slightly horrifying.

“I’m afraid I cannot shed light on any sinister details,” Xendric shook his head, pretending to wonder. “Even if I knew about them at some point, right now I don’t remember everything, regrettably. My memory has hollowed considerably,” he laughed morbidly at this unintended pun.

“M-hm,” Dorian nodded, “I can understand.”

“Perhaps, if fortune – and the gods – would favor me, I will collect my memories bit by bit. Then, one day, I will be able to tell you something.”

“I would highly appreciate this. I reckon if we were… to become friends, there would be no reason to withhold knowledge from each other. I, for my part, can help you with spells you may have forgotten. Or the ones you haven’t mastered yet,” he smiled with his lips. “Though, I have no doubt in your abilities. In the end, both of us may be old wizards, but perhaps, two hundred years’ difference is worth something, eh?”

“Hahaha, certainly!”

“Oh, what am I even talking about? It is probably you who should lecture the old reactionary who is still using obsolete algorithms,” Dorian laughed.

“If we have time, we might as well compare our knowledge,” Xendric smiled.

“Yes, of course. What about your companions? I suppose they come from a variety of lands and backgrounds, judging by their looks. You even have two knights of Astora.”

“Yes. A couple of knights, a Korasani native, and sir samurai from far, far away. A colorful company. As you may have guessed, we all met in one particular place.”

“The Asylum, I suppose?”

“Indeed. Although it’s nowhere near as pleasant as the name suggests.”

“Can’t say I am surprised. It is typical of the clergy to come up with something like this. It’s a convenient instrument for them to hide their own undead away. No matter how they resist the Curse, sooner or later the undead appear amongst them, too. And that is a real inconvenience to the Church, you’ll agree.”

“Hah, of course. They don’t want to sully their image with _that._ I imagine that’s the root of all these ‘holy missions’, too. Although, I guess that they dump most of the accursed into the Asylum. Else that would be quite costly for them.”

Dorian nodded with a sigh.

“I hope you and your companions will vanquish the demon.”

“We certainly will. And that’s when we can finally get down to the books. I suppose it’s about the only joy we still have.”

“Maybe so. You should probably get some rest – I’m talking up all your time. I think Cayla has already provided the rooms for you, so I suppose you could go and see,” the sorcerer smiled politely.

“Nice. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“If you have any troubles, come to me, please.”

“Thank you kindly,” Xendric stood up and bowed. “It was a great pleasure to make your acquaintance. A very unexpected, but very pleasant meeting.”

“Likewise.”

***

On the next day, after a frugal meal, they set off almost immediately. There was no use delaying that. The day before, Katsumoto used the ingredients he had purchased to concoct several fire bombs which he doled out to several people in the group. Along with Ramilda, they found out all they could about the mansion’s layout and approaches to it. Despite the danger, they decided to split and attack the demon from two different sides; if Dorian’s observers were to be believed, the Capra was often seen in one of the mansion’s courtyards. Ramilda, Ryu, and Xendric were to enter through a side door, ascend the second floor, and block the stairs to the courtyard, so that the dogs couldn’t capitalize on their numbers. Mendes and Somerset would await outside, near the main entrance. At the sound of a horn that the samurai had, they were to rush inside and strike from behind. If the demon would not be there, the party was to unite and sweep the mansion.

Cayla, Hubert, and several others saw them to the end of the block. While Mendes was looking for the merchant in order to buy a couple more bombs before they went, the rest awaited him near the outpost.

“I still don’t get it. Where’d you come from, with armor like this?” Hubert asked, addressing Ryu.

“From afar.”

“Bah, figures, you’re all from afar,” the big guy waved his hand. “It’s like pulling teeth to get anything out of ya.”

“You don’t know of this place.”

“Not that I wanna. You’re all the same, goddammit. Were you some sorta knight out there?”

“You could say so.”

“Well, now you’re stuck here for good. Anyway, I can see you’re not bad guys, unlike these… Y’know, if you whack out that demon sucker, better stay here. Lordran is one big shithole anyhow, all this adventuring is no fun. Gotta hold on to each other, try and do something. Chasing after all these prophecies and ringing the bells – it’s all hogwash, if you ask me.”

“You suggest to remain here and rot until your spirit burns out? Thank you, but no.”

“Heh, well, if that’s ‘rotting’ to you, then yeah, it’s a different story. You’ll just rot anyway, even faster than me,” Hubert put on a friendly smile. “No disrespect, but when your adventuring gets the better of you, I’ll be the one dancing on your grave, you’ll see.”

“Better to die for a purpose, rather than simply latch onto life,” Katsumoto responded calmly.

“Oh-ho, look at you, you really are a knight. Bet you’re gonna talk about the idea and honor now. Heh, weirdo. I’ve seen your type,” he glanced quickly at Somerset. “So, what’s the purpose you wanna die for?”

“Getting rid of the Curse,” Ryu replied with a shrug, evidently not giving the full answer. “A good purpose, nay?”

“Right. But do you know how? Thought so. We have a purpose too, as it happens. We’re just simple people, y’know, down-to-earth types, so we hold on to simple things. Live to see another day and drag along your friends and family – I think that ain’t too bad of a purpose, either.”

“Well, I can respect that. But why do you think that trying to ring the bells is foolishness?”

“Cause it’s all fairy tales,” Hubert waved him off. “So what, you ring the bell, and then what happens? What, some white birds are gonna carry you to Anor Londo? To His Majesty Gwyn, right? And then he’ll bestow his royal grace upon ya and lift the Curse, is that what you’re saying?” he scoffed. “Don’t play me for a fool.”

“So, are you saying it’s not even worth trying out?”

“Why the hell should we? To chase hell knows what? We’re too busy, y’know, got plenty of troubles of our own. Gods decided to play jokes on us, so what? To hell with this, we’ll slowly clean up the mess! At least there’s sense to it. Can’t make it a paradise in one day, but we’re still better off than yesterday. And that’s it.”

“Well, it is your choice.”

“And your choice is to go and die?” the big guy grinned.

“We’ll see who goes down first,” Ryu twisted his lips into a smile.

“Heheh, we’ll see,” Hubert nodded. “Alright then. Good luck out there.”

At that point, Mendes returned with bombs in tow, and the party moved out.

“Be on your toes,” Cayla said. “The Butchers can get cocky and sneak up on you.”

She nodded at Ramilda, and the knightess returned the gesture.

They quickly reached the mansion. Situated on the corner of an intersection, it was crammed in between the surrounding buildings, with two streets – maybe the only wide enough streets in the whole town – separating it from the opposite houses, allowing for the direct light to shine at the courtyards. Crowns of apple and plum trees could be seen from behind a tiled stone wall. They could hear the dogs barking from here. The only other sound at this eerie, empty crossing was the plangent creaking of shutters.

“They’re going to smell us soon,” Ryu said quietly, watching the mansion from behind a corner opposite the entrance. “Mendes, don’t stand too far when we move in. Got to make it fast.”

“There’s the entry point we need,” Rami pointed at the side wall of the building. “Same plan as before?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure we still need to split?” Xendric asked.

“Yeah,” Swann nodded. “It’s a small distance to cover, we’ll be able to aid each other. We go all bunched up and get stuck on the stairs with no room to maneuver – we’ll end up badly. We will get together anyway.”

“That’s right,” Ryu concurred. “The important thing is to link up fast.”

“Alright,” Xendric sighed.

“We are ready,” Mendes reassured. “Once you blow the horn, we’ll cut the dogs down in no time.”

“Let’s go,” Ryu commanded.

They ran across the street. The dogs in the yard got nervous, disturbed by the noise outside. As Ramilda got to the side door and stopped for a moment, she looked back at Somerset and Mendes, waving her hand at them. On cue from Ryu, she kicked the door and entered the building, shield up. It was dark and empty inside. Two corridors went to the sides of the room, and the stairs to the second floor lay straight ahead. Going up hastily, they could hear the alarmed barking intensify in the courtyard. The door to the balcony overlooking the courtyard was right in front of them, and Katsumoto readied his horn.

“We check the smaller yard,” he said. “If there’s no one there, we move to the big one. Go!”

Ramilda yanked the door, and the three of them ran out into the light. Down below, in the middle of a narrow courtyard, stood a huge, almost human silhouette with a rough black skin covered with demonic growth. His head resembled a bleached goat skull with large horns. Four eyes of the beast were glowing red. A long tail was dragging behind, and his only clothing was a loose, torn ankle-length skirt held with wick. In both hands, he held a large cleaver; chipped blades of darkened steel were massive enough to kill anyone on the spot. Four dogs circled around the beast, and two more were on a leash. Ramilda recognized a Capra demon at the first glance; she fought a creature like this before. Back then, the spawn of Izalith killed two of her comrades and crippled another one before the knights cut it down.

The seven-foot beast looked at them and pointed a cleaver their way with a menacing roar. Katsumoto sounded the horn, and the demon released the hounds. Ramilda wasted no time and blocked the narrow stairs – the plague dogs lunged towards her, ready to bite the intruders to death. Ryu hurled a black firebomb to block the stairs; two dogs managed to run past it, but the rest were caught in the explosion. Ablaze, the hounds scattered, whimpering. Rami clenched her teeth, ready to take on the rest.

While Xendric was weaving a spell, the demon grabbed a spear sticking from the ground. Realizing what was about to happen, Ramilda shouted:

“Watch out!”

With a backswing, the Capra flung the spear towards the unprotected mage. At the last moment, he dodged the deadly projectile; shearing through the air, the spear plunged several inches deep into a gap between the stones. The first hound threw itself at Ramilda, fangs flashing, and she stopped it with a shield. The second hound bit at her shin right away, and only the greaves saved her from its teeth. The hound pulled towards itself, and for a moment Rami thought she would fall. Stepping back, she managed to yank her leg out and kicked the pestilent beast. She hacked at the nearest dog, but it jumped away, and Xendric finally cast the vortex onto the yard.

The whirlwind of blue arrows tore through the dogs who remained below, right when they were about to jump across the fire. The demon managed to outrun the vortex, sprinting full speed towards the balcony. The samurai’s arrow that pierced his shoulder bothered him none. He leapt forward, latching onto the balcony, and tried to pull himself up. Grabbing his katana, Ryu kicked the demon right in the skull, and he fell down. Carving himself a second to spare, the samurai blew the horn again.

Rami kept fending the dogs off, slowly retreating upstairs, and kept glancing at the main entrance; their comrades were still nowhere to be seen. They’ve been fighting for nearly a minute, the horn sounded twice, but the backup wasn’t coming.

“Something’s wrong, Ryu!” she yelled, kicking a dog away. “They’re not here!”

“Hold the stairs!” the samurai fired back.

At that instant, with a running start, the demon jumped right onto the balcony, appearing in front of her friends.

“Xendric, get back!” the knight shouted.

Before the Goathorn had a chance to attack, Ryu emerged between him and Xendric. A flurry of blows came down on the samurai. His blade flashed, parrying the cleavers, and for a moment, it looked like he got the demon. Another cut parried, Ryu performed a riposte, but only grazed the demon’s black leg with his blade. That same instant, the second cleaver hit him in the side, and the samurai recoiled to the wall, armor plates dented by the strike. A soul spear was thrown at the demon, but he dodged with a nimbleness of a cat and went for Katsumoto, raising his cleavers.

Cursing through her teeth, Rami timed her strike with a hound’s lunge and shoved her sword right into its maw. As she pulled the blade back, the second dog toppled her, and the knight fell on the stones, hurting her back. The sudden shock made her lose the sword grip. The hound went for her neck instantly, and Ramilda barely managed to defend herself with her steel vambrace. Her heart was racing; the entire fight seemingly went awry. The dog struck her in the face, and she flinched instinctively. The claws bounced off the edge of the helmet and tore her cheek and part of the neck. Swann screamed in pain. As the slimy fangs clattered against the plates, Rami slammed the shield’s rim into the dog’s face – the hound fell off with a whimper. Her legs thrashing, the knightess stood up, feeling the hot blood flowing underneath the armor, and grabbed her sword.

The demon roared on her left as the second soul spear hit him, but it was not enough to topple the Capra. Ramilda glanced across her shoulder, assessing the situation, and saw the wounded Ryu down on his knee – and something she didn’t expect to see at all. Through the same door they used to access the balcony, a young woman in stained white clothes came out to them. She was, without a doubt, a cleric. Her hands raised and engulfed by the golden glow, she was walking steadfast into the fight, whispering a prayer. With no time to marvel at that, Ramilda concentrated on the last dog. Stepping back, she blocked another lunge and hacked away forcefully, finishing the hound.

Not even looking at the demon, the girl in white ran up to Katsumoto and directed her palms at him. A glowing golden circle with letters woven by the magical light appeared at her feet; the stranger turned out to be a miracle-maker. Ramilda felt relieved as the healing light shrouded the samurai. Swann had experienced the effect of healing miracles in the past, and she vividly remembered that sweet feeling that soothed the pain as the wounds were mending.

Katsumoto rose up just in time. The demon leapt at them, swinging his cleavers simultaneously. Dodging one of them, Ryu parried the second one and slashed the demon’s chest with a lightning counterblow. As Ramilda rushed in to help, Xendric blew the demon off the balcony with a powerful shockwave.

“Downstairs!” Ryu ordered, pointing at the demon. “Xendric, fire from here!”

Ramilda nodded abruptly. Now, using the brief lull, she could take a proper look at the girl. Brown edging on her robe’s hem and sleeves, a sash of the same color with golden drawstrings, a big shoulder cape with a hood – the stranger belonged to the Way of White, indeed. A tangled mess of brown hair covered her neck, and her hazel eyes were wide open at the sheer terror of combat. Her face was slightly touched by hollowing. Running up to the knightess, she rattled off anxiously:

“Are you wounded? I can help, lady knight!”

“Thank you,” Ramilda uttered.

She winced from the sore pain, and the healing light brought her relief. Blood stopped flowing, and the tear mended. With a thankful nod, Swann adjusted her shield and ran down along with Ryu.

“Stay back!” she said, looking across the shoulder.

The demon met them with a furious onslaught. Ryu gave some ground, parrying the first blows, but the Capra was swinging his cleavers like mill blades without stopping. Rami stepped forward, raising the shield to block the cut, and positioned her sword like a roof, blocking the second cleaver. The blades crashed into her defense with a clang, almost breaching it, but her sword was firmly fixed by the shield, and held. A second later, Katsumoto drove his katana between the demon’s ribs. He wheezed, and Ramilda saw him spit blood. Seizing the moment, she tried to finish him, but the furious demon parried her blow and fended off both of the fighters. Winding up for a new attack, he swung again, and then a soul spear plunged into his chest, splitting into blue lightning bolts. With the last stifled moan, the demon collapsed to the ground.

Ramilda had no wish to push her luck. She ran up to the foe and drove her blade through his heart. Raising her head towards the main entrance, she bided for several seconds. Silence was the answer. Their companions didn’t come.

“Damn,” the knightess uttered. “What the hell…? I’ll go take a look!”

She ran through the archway and looked at the corner where the second group remained. There was no trace of Somerset and Mendes. The streets were still deserted. Something bad had taken place in the meanwhile, but Ramilda still couldn’t understand what had happened.

“Mendes!” she called out. “Somerset!”

No answer.

“Ramilda, over here!” Ryu hailed her. “Don’t go anywhere, it’s too dangerous!”

The knight bit her lip. It was obvious that some danger found their companions, and if that was the case, their rescue was a matter of minutes – provided they were still alive. Any delay could be harmful, but going into the unknown _was_ reckless – first, they had to get their bearings. Whispering curses, Ramilda swung her shield behind her back and hurried to the yard. Looks like a hasty meeting with their savior was in order.

“Good day to you, my lady,” Xendric said in a curious voice, studying the girl in the dingy robe. “Could you share with us what led you into the midst of battle?”

“Greetings,” she replied in a thin voice. “I don’t know what to say… It looks like Lord Gwyn himself led me to you. I’ve been long… long wandering these streets, trying to find one living soul. I called upon the Guiding Thread miracle, and it led me to you.”

She kept hiding her eyes, only looking them in the eye occasionally and averting her gaze almost immediately.

“What’s your name?” Swann asked.

“Gabi, lady knight,” the girl bowed awkwardly, and the shadow of a smile could be glimpsed on her shy face.

“Ramilda,” the knightess introduced herself. “Thank you for the help. Tell us, have you seen our friends outside? One of them has armor just like mine.”

“I… No, I haven’t seen anyone in a long time,” Gabi shook her head with a wary look on her face. “I only heard noise coming from over there! Like it was a fight or… I thought it was you all.”

“Where did it come from, approximately?” Xendric asked.

The cleric pointed at the archway.

“I see,” Ryu said. “Alright, let’s take what is left of the demon and go take a look. They could not vanish into thin air.”

“Come with us,” Ramilda patted Gabi on the shoulder. “Sorry, there is no time. You’ll be safer with us.”

“Yes, yes, I’m with you,” the girl reassured her. “If there is a chance to rescue them, we cannot squander it.”

Two sprites of humanity became their trophies, aside from souls. They found nothing on the spot they stood on minutes earlier. However, all they had to do was turn a corner into a back alley. Several hollow corpses with fresh lacerations littered the ground. There was blood on the cobblestones. Ramilda was the first to notice a dagger nearby and picked it up; it was a misericorde that belonged to her battle brother, the same as hers.

“Somerset’s dagger,” she said. “I still don’t get what happened…”

“Well, if they died, we should meet them near the bonfire,” Xendric summed up.

“I doubt it,” Ramilda said, looking at the crimson stains at their feet. “Look at all this blood… it’s a trail. Let’s go take a look.”

After wriggling through the narrow alleys, following the distinct dark splatters, they found themselves at an impasse. The trail led to a massive oaken door, clearly looked after and well maintained. It was locked, and the keyhole was in a good state. Ramilda tried to push it to assess the weight and shook her head.

“No use. We need axes to break through that.”

“Move aside,” Katsumoto said. “Let me try that key bundle.”

“That’s right! You did good to buy it out.”

After fiddling with the keys for a while, Ryu found a match and carefully opened the door. It was pitch-dark inside. In the distance from down below, they could hear a faint sound of water dripping.

“Looks like it’s a dungeon,” the samurai said. “We need torches to go down there.”

“I’m afraid my magic is useless here,” Xendric spread his hands. “We have to return for the torches.”

“No,” Rami closed the door and walked hastily to the opposite house. “Let’s go look for rags and pieces of wood! Should be something left in these wrecks. We can use fuel from fire bombs!”

“Excuse me. I happen to have a flask of oil on me,” Gabi raised her voice. “It’s not much, but it should be enough for some time.”

“Perfect! You are just wonderful!”

The cleric blushed and shook her head without reply.

They were lucky. As they were searching the house, their new companion looked around and moved a small dusty carpet, discovering a loose floorboard behind it. She rocked it with her toes and drew the attention of her companions. They peeled off the floorboards and found a stash – someone stocked up for a rainy day. Amongst other things, they found torches, clean cloth, and some instruments.

Soon, with two torches lit, they returned to the oaken door. After walking inside, they moved through a pass opposite them to find the stairs going down, also stained with blood. Gabi was whispering a prayer to Gwyn so that their search would succeed. Questions still riddled Ramilda’s mind. Where did this girl come from? How did she end up in the Lower Burg and survive here all this time? Did Petrus know about her, or was she a part of a different Way of White expedition? Why did she even dare to join their fight with the demon and go after them? For now, though, the questions could wait; the lives of their comrades were hanging by a thread.

Downstairs, lit by the torchlights, a long corridor appeared before them. Through the archway on the other side, they could see wall lamps flickering – and heard some movement and muffled voices.

The closer they approached the arch, the more distinctly they could hear a rhythmic sound, as if something heavy was hitting a wooden surface repeatedly. Ramilda felt her skin crawl at the realization: it was the sound of a large meat axe. She was the first to approach the arch and carefully peeked inside, without raising her torch. Behind it, was a dark gallery with a decorative colonnade. To its right, below the gallery, lay a large half-lit hall connected to it by the stairs in the far end. The murmuring voices came from down there. Ramilda couldn’t distinguish the words – the noise was more akin to an incomprehensible mumbling with guttural moans typical for hollows. Rami silently gestured for the others to extinguish the torches.

Trying to move as smoothly as possible so that her armor didn’t rattle, she crouched to the parapet, with Xendric sneaking behind. Below them, in the big hall, they saw two long tables with about ten figures occupying one of them. In the dim light, they still noticed that all of them were hollow, but for some strange reason, they all kept a semblance of order. At this point, a large silhouette appeared on the staircase leading deeper down – a hulking figure in a bloodstained apron and with something resembling a sack on his head, probably with eye-slits. He was carrying an impressive tray loaded with meat chunks, crudely chopped with bones and not too well cooked. Ramilda shuddered; the realization came by itself, and the knightess could barely suppress the nausea.

The hollows perked up, reaching for the tray with their hands. The figure snapped at them loudly, silencing them, and slammed the tray in the middle of the table. The hollows swooped down on it like carrion crows, devouring the abominable meal.

“The Butchers,” the knightess whispered, hiding behind the parapet. “It’s the Butchers’ lair…”

She peeked cautiously one more time and spotted a hollow pacing about with a torch in his hand; it looked like he was a watchman here. Off to the side, by the stairs to the gallery, several crates and barrels were huddled together.

“What have we got here?” Ryu whispered, sneaking up to them.

“Butchers,” Ramilda replied quietly. “The big one with a meat axe must be the chief. Ten hollows at the table. One more with a torch – beware him. There’s a bunch of boxes over there by the stairs, a good spot.”

“We have to enforce the fight. They must’ve dragged them here, but shouldn’t have managed to… kill them,” he pointed at Ramilda. “You two get down behind the crates, wait for my shot. Xendric – vortex right into them. Rami, watch the stairs. Gabi, stay near me and stay put. I shoot from upstairs. Push comes to shove – we get together. All clear?”

They responded with nods.

The samurai waved his hand, signaling to begin. Ramilda and Xendric waited for the torchbearer to walk to the opposite end of the hall, sneaked down to the dark spot behind the barrels and lay low. The knightess pinched her nose just in case, to prevent blowing their cover.

It all went well until the last moment. As Katsumoto got into position, he accidentally hit the last column with arrows sticking from his quiver. The torchbearer instantly turned towards the rattle, stretched his hand in this direction, and shrieked, alarming the hall.

The hollows leapt to their feet, grabbing their weapons. Xendric commenced spellcasting right away, Ryu shot at the torchbearer and missed. As the undead rushed towards the intruders, the vortex swirled in their midst, killing four of them and wounding two more. One of the soul arrows pierced the big butcher – he squirmed in pain, reaching for Estus. The samurai ran down, shot one of the attackers dead and reached for his sword. Rami jumped from behind the barrels, intercepting the quickest hollow, and ran him through before he could attack Katsumoto. Xendric stopped the others, blasting them several feet back with a shockwave.

There was a momentary hitch as Ryu must’ve been trying to decide whether they should stay in a narrow space which they could defend effectively, or seize the moment and attack the butcher and the torchbearer who were now far ahead of the rest without support. In the end, he darted forward and shouted:

“Charge!”

Ramilda ran after him.

It all went awry fast. The torchbearer tossed some bottle into Ryu, and the samurai narrowly dodged it. Oil splashed against the wall behind him. The butcher stepped forward, raising his large cleaver on a long handle, and swung it in a wide arc, halting the attackers. The torchbearer retreated behind his back, and one of those who were blasted away stood up and charged at Ryu with a broken sword. It glanced off the lamellar spaulder, the samurai took a step back and cut the hollow down.

They got themselves into an awkward position. Ramilda had to deal with another hollow, two others were already running at them, and she couldn’t assist Ryu in his duel with the butcher – the flow of battle carried them off to the right. No sooner had she slashed open her opponent’s neck, she heard a stifled grunt; with a powerful overhead swing, the butcher damaged the samurai’s collarbone. Gabi was quick to react. As the butcher swung again, she raised her glowing hands, reciting the words of the ancient miracle, and healed Katsumoto in an instant.

A blue arrow killed one of the hollows charging at Ramilda, and a second one hit the butcher. The knightess parried the second hollow’s strike with her shield and stabbed him right in the gut. The torchbearer sprang up again and flung another bottle of oil into Xendric, and it smashed right into him. Rami was about to hurry to Ryu’s aid when she realized the worst was yet to come. A second butcher – a large woman, no less – ascended the stairs with a maul on her shoulder. Two plague dogs were thrashing violently on a leash in front of her, and four more hollows tailed the butcher.

As soon as the stabbed thrall collapsed in front of Ramilda, the dogs and hollows attacked. One of the hounds jumped and got impaled by Rami’s blade – she’s had enough of canines for today. A soul spear illuminated the hall with azure light and pierced two hollows, grazing the Maul as well, but she hardly even flinched. The female butcher ran up to Ramilda while she was under attack and hit her with a swing – Swann didn’t even manage to move her shield in place. The world spun in front of her eyes and she flew back, tumbling as pain shot through her body. It felt like half of her ribs were broken and her chest cavity was set aflame.

She pulled herself up just a little, by the skin of her teeth, and realized she was lying at Gabi’s feet – she had nowhere to fall back now. Leaning on her shield and overcoming the pain, she rose to her feet with a growl. A dog leapt at her immediately, and Rami simply hacked away, wounding the beast in the side.

“…By thy hallowed name, let these wounds be healed!” Gabi exclaimed, touching her shoulder. “Lux salutaris luceat!”

The pain started to subside as Rami felt an incredible surge of power. It was only a bit harder to breathe – no incantations could straighten the dented cuirass. She heard Xendric scream on her left: “I’m burning!” Turning her head, Ramilda realized that the two remaining hollows exploited her absence, broke through to the sorcerer and lit the oil on his clothes with a torch. The entire left sleeve and hem of his robe were on fire. Xendric was running upstairs, and while one of the hollows followed him, the second one ran straight at Gabi, swinging his axe. At the last moment, Ramilda extended her shield arm and saved the cleric from a fatal blow. A second later, she jabbed her sword between the hollow’s ribs.

“Gods…” Gabi uttered. “Thank you.”

Xendric got chased upstairs, and Rami could only hope the sorcerer would survive on his own. Swinging her maul, the female butcher impended them with a menacing, guttural “Die!”. Ramilda remained unfazed; she used to look far deadlier opponents in the eye. She noticed the sinister torchbearer up on the table, lighting a fire bomb. Katsumoto was the closest to him, still battling the butcher who was on his last legs. Rami couldn’t possibly make it to the torchbearer, especially since that would leave Gabi exposed.

“Ryu, the bomb!” she yelled, preparing to take on the Maul.

“Sir knight, the bomb, hurry!” the cleric echoed her.

“Gabi, get back!”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Katsumoto’s incredible maneuver. With a swift cut, the samurai ripped open the butcher’s neck and rushed to the table. Before the bleeding hulk even hit the floor, Ryu slashed the torchbearer’s legs with a wide sweep. Ramilda didn’t see the finishing blow.

She stepped back from the swing, but it was not enough. The maul slammed into her shield, and Ramilda groaned through her teeth from the immense pain in her arm. The next blow came from above – the knight moved to the side and dodged it. She tried to lunge at the Maul, but her thrust alignment was off, and it glanced off the thick leather apron. Luckily, the butcher got distracted by Ryu, and Ramilda retreated with a moan – her left arm simply refused to obey. Gabi was already by her side, uttering the magic words in a clean staccato.

Just this instant, the wounded hound lashed out one last time. Before she could grab Gabi’s leg, Ramilda launched herself at it and pinned the dog down with her body. She let go of the sword hilt, still holding the dog in a choke, went for the dagger and finally offed the beast.

The life-saving “Lux salutaris luceat” came just in time. Raising her head, Rami assessed the situation. Ryu had the Maul completely distracted and mostly stayed out of her reach, drawing her off to the side. Down the stairs came Xendric with a bloodied sword in hand. His purple robe was no longer on fire, drenched in water. He hobbled, leaning on his staff; his clothes were stained with blood – his own and his enemy’s. The sorcerer’s figure was engulfed by a faint blue aura – the one they saw yesterday around the Black Knight.

“You alright?” Ramilda asked, standing up hastily.

“As you can see, my fencing is still god for something,” Xendric uttered.

“Come over here, sir!” Gabi exclaimed. “I’m going to heal you both!”

After another miracle – literal and figurative – her arm was completely fine. The rest was simply cleanup. In less than a minute, the Maul was slain, and her body dissipated.

As the battle wound down, they realized that another fight was going on downstairs. All went quiet roughly the same moment they finished the Maul – only the sound of steel cutting through flesh and a painful scream came from down there. Steps pattered on the stairs. They grouped together, ready to face another foe, but that proved to be redundant: the one who ran upstairs to them was Somerset. His sword and armor were covered in blood. Seeing his friends, the knight assumed a relaxed pose and raised his visor.

Following him, another figure appeared. It was a man in a long brown coat with a shoulder cape and a hood, and a red ornamented sash on his waist. Above his palm, a flame was flickering – the same as Mendes’. Baggy pants and a couple of necklaces made of large beads of quartz and sard completed the image – Ramilda once saw jewelry like this worn by a Great Swamps dweller. The pyromancer extinguished the flame and took his hood off. They saw a swarthy face, a neat beard with moustache framing his mouth, and long brown hair.

“Are these your friends?” he asked Somerset, looking over the party.

“They are.”

“I assume it’s all quiet downstairs?” Xendric inquired.

“Oh yes,” the pyromancer smiled with relief. “My greetings. Thank you for coming to my aid. Your friend… he set me free. Damn butchers snatched me right in the middle of the night…”

“Where is Mendes?” Ramilda asked.

“Alas, I couldn’t save him,” Somerset lowered his head. “He… tried to run as they led us to the prison room. He broke free, even took his axes, and then they twisted my arms and pinned me to the ground. He managed to run away and disappeared into the depths.”

Swann mouthed a curse.

“There are sewers full of giant rats down below,” the pyromancer said. “He probably retreated there. To go looking for him now is, frankly… not the best… idea.”

He spoke as he exhaled, as if he was suddenly overcome by exhaustion – the pyromancer could barely stand on his feet. Gabi ran up to him immediately, grabbing his shoulder.

“Sir, can I help you, sir?”

“No, no, I’m not wounded, I’m just… terribly tired. Got all burnt out during the fight. They held me in a vat, hands tied, for a whole day, they… they were going to kill me. You know, right? What they are…”

“A gang of Butchers, if I’m not mistaken,” Xendric suggested.

“That’s right.”

Meanwhile, Gabi pulled out a bundle of odorous herbs and offered the pyromancer to smell it and inhale deeply. His face lightened up.

“Oh gods, a whole bunch of sarmis! Thank you, just what I need,” he brought the bundle up to his nose and slowly inhaled. It looked like he felt slightly relieved. “Thank you kindly, my lady, what is your name?”

“Gabi.”

“A pleasure to meet you. I hope you are not concerned by the presence of a heretic from the Great Swamp and all that…” he laughed in earnest.

“No, not at all!”

“Speaking of heresy. Maybe you could introduce yourself?” Xendric proposed.

“Oh yes, I’m very sorry. My name is Laurentius, and I came here hoping to find the traces of the… ancient pyromancy. I don’t suppose any of you are trained in this art?”

“Our friend is,” Ryu answered.

“Mendes, right? Yes, yes, yes… I would be glad to speak with him, but… looks like it’s not to be.”

“We might meet him at the bonfire yet,” Ramilda said. “I am sure of this…”

She and the others introduced themselves in turn.

“We should leave this place soon,” Laurentius said. “They have another den nearby and they will soon realize what happened and barge in here, for all we know.”

“Let us hurry then,” Ryu nodded. “You can tell the rest on the way.”

Ramilda lingered for a moment, looking at the staircase leading down. She could only hope that if the worst was to happen to Mendes, he would show up at their safe bonfire again. For the hundredth time, she regretted supporting the idea to split. While tactically sound, it didn’t take the dangers of the Lower Burg into account, and the fellowship paid the price for it. At least, they rescued a man. She adjusted her helmet and quickly followed the others.

“I was just passing through,” Laurentius told them as they walked the quiet streets. “Stayed with a sorcerer who has a commune of his own here, Dorian is the name.”

“Is that so? We were sent by him,” Xendric said.

“I’m in great luck then! Me and him… had a talk, and then I went on my way. I wanted to find… a passage into Blighttown that I was shown on a map, but I didn’t succeed. They shoved me into this closet and tied my hands – I couldn’t even summon my flame.”

“Could you tell us what they did to their captives?”

“It’s all very simple. All the captives were in line for the butcher’s knife. Some of them… they made them bound to their bonfire and held them for so long they went mad. All the unfortunates that you cut down – they were their slaves. Slaves, understand? They intimidated and sapped them to the point where they could no longer survive without them – the butchers remained their only source of food. They would have probably chopped me up any day now, I was too dangerous because of my pyromancy. But luckily, your friend saved me – they put him in a vat next to me. But he toppled and broke it, and then cut the ropes with one of the shards and helped me out of there. And then… we heard the noise upstairs and decided to make use of this.”

“Lucky that it turned out this way.”

“Say, do you happen to know a safe place with a bonfire from where I could access… different parts of the realm? The landscape here is mountainous, treacherously deceptive… I’m looking for a crossway of sorts.”

“The Firelink Shrine. We came from there – even fixed the place up a little.”

“Firelink Shrine… Would that be the ruins on the opposite mountain? That side of the aqueduct?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Tell me, could you please… take me there? If that would be… convenient to you.”

“We could, of course, if you are not in any serious dispute with the White Church. A certain cleric of ample girth has been occupying part of it lately, if you know what I mean…”

“Oh, not at all,” the pyromancer laughed. “It’s more likely _they_ would have some grievances with me. But, if I understand it right, it’s a neutral territory here, so they wouldn’t have time for some… feud with a dirty heretic. I, for one, won’t bother them none.”

“Well, wonderful, then it’s decided. We would be glad to welcome you in our temporary abode,” the sorcerer smiled politely.

“Don’t worry,” Gabi added. “If anything, I could settle any disputes with my brothers in faith. I myself would like to see them.”

“Thank you, Gabi, that’s very kind of you. You know, if you can find your friend, definitely take him to me. I can teach the art of pyromancy to him and…” he cleared his throat. “To you too, if you wish. Not that anyone needs that here, on the other hand. I understand, this art is not easy to master, and many people have… fair concerns about it. Fire is to be feared, my friends. But if any of you would like to share the flame with me, I’m ready to do this at no cost completely. Especially since I owe my life to you.”

“We’ll keep that in mind, definitely.”

Prior to that, they quickly went into the orangery again and took one of the demon’s cleavers as proof. As they finished talking, they reached the outpost. Men with violet armbands waved at them, and in a minute, they found themselves amidst the familiar houses and familiar faces. Dorian, Cayla, and Hubert went out to meet them. The young brigand leader had a smirk on her face.

“So, did you succeed?”

“Yes,” Xendric replied. “We even rescued a couple of people.”

“Where’s the swarthy one?”

“He is missing,” Ramilda said. “The Butchers snatched him and dragged him away, and then he broke out before we came to the rescue. Looks like… he ran away from them into the sewers. Didn’t he appear by the bonfire?”

“Nope. How long ago?”

“Less than an hour.”

“Well, he might spring up yet. I see now, you had a scuffle with the Butchers?”

“We whittled them down pretty good, I must say,” Xendric noted.

“I suppose, the Capra demon is killed?” Dorian stepped forward.

“Yeah, just like his dogs. Your orangery is free.”

Ramilda stepped forward and threw the demon’s cleaver at Cayla’s feet.

“Is that the weapon?” the sorcerer asked.

“Yeah, it’s his picker,” Cayla nodded. “Quite the splash you made out there.”

“Brilliant,” Dorian stated. “If you still have any wounded, we can help them, otherwise – come settle down. I see you brought Laurentius, too,” he greeted the pyromancer with a nod. “And, Xendric, please come by later.”

“Of course, with pleasure. My thanks. We have to take care of some things, and then we shall dine.”

“Cayla, assemble the men. We need to take control of the mansion and the adjacent streets immediately. Restore every outpost over there.”

“Will do,” the girl nodded. “Everyone heard? Assemble the party! Enzo, you go ahead and scout with your boys, place the marksmen in position!”

With a loud sigh, Ramilda took off her helmet and shook her hair. At last, she had time to catch her breath and talk to Gabi properly. She turned to the cleric and said with a smile:

“Thank you very much. Without you… we would have surely died out there.”

“No need to thank me. It’s the highest blessing – helping other people – the same wayward souls as me.”

“I was meaning to ask. How come you wound up here? Are you from father Petrus’ party, by any chance?”

“Father Petrus… No, I’m not with him. I heard you mention him, but no, I never met this man. But as for the reason why I’m here… it’s probably the same as his. Tell me, isn’t father Petrus searching for components to perform the Rite of Kindling?”

“Yeah, exactly so. He told us about this quest.”

“Then you know it. I was a part of a similar party. You see… I became undead back home. And I was sent on this… ‘holy mission’: for the sake of the Way of White along with some other people. Father Lucian was in charge – we arrived about a month ago.”

“The Church organizes expeditions that often?” Xendric twisted his eyebrow.

“Yes, pretty often. Quite possibly, father Petrus’ expedition was organized by a different diocese at the cardinal’s approval. Anyway, since we arrived, we have explored several places in Lordran, including the upper lever of the ancient catacombs… but there, we lost two of our own and decided to retreat. I happened to die a couple of times, too, but so far, Lord Gwyn and Allfather Lloyd were merciful to me, and I was revived by the bonfire in my right mind. We then headed into this town, hoping to discover some library so that… we could find clues where to look. But we went to the wrong town – we were given false information. And then… we were unfortunate to go into the Lower Burg from a wrong… direction. We were attacked, and all my companions were slain. Some were captured by those terrible butchers – in another place not far from here. I managed to get away and… I was hiding in the houses and basements for several days. I survived by some miracle. Didn’t know what to do at all. I couldn’t find my companions, so I decided to call on the Lightbringer and performed a miracle of the Guiding Thread. You must know, perhaps – it can show you the way even in dire condition. And so, this little thread led me to you. I hope… it explains my presence here. And my dirty robes,” she looked down with a sad smile.

“You’ve endured so much,” Ramilda shook her head and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you worry. We won’t leave you. Say, you are not… bound by your mission anymore? It must be important to you, I understand.”

“I suppose not,” Gabi said with a chuckle. “I guess Lord Gwyn knows a far worthier candidate than me. And the Church certainly doesn’t count on me, so… We failed our mission, and I suppose I will have to remain here anyway. In the end, they never expected me to return, did they?”

She looked Rami in the eye for the first time, and the knightess caught on to the hint of irony in her words. She saw many young, naïve clerics in her day, those who genuinely believed in their ideals, and she thought Gabi to be no different at first. And yet, despite her evident faith, it seemed to Ramilda that her attitude towards the Church was far more pragmatic. Time would provide the answer eventually.

“Well, you can stay with us, then,” she said. “We’re stuck here too, as you can see. But we hold on to each other and we _will_ keep you safe. I won’t lie, we could use a person with miracles. You truly saved us today.”

“Don’t mention it,” Gabi smiled. “I only did what I had to. I’m sorry we were too late to rescue your friend.”

Ramilda nodded.

“It’s alright. He will survive, I am sure of this.”

“Since we started such a charming talk, I suggest we all go inside the house,” Xendric interrupted. “We can clean ourselves up and share the trophies.”

“Yeah, you go in, I’m going to… hang around for a bit,” Rami replied as her face turned grim. The incident at the crossing still refused to leave her mind. She put her hand on Somerset’s pauldron. “Forgive me, brother. For what happened.”

“No need. It’s my fault, too,” Leighton said as he followed the rest.

Ramilda was now alone. She watched her companions walk inside, and then proceeded to the outpost. She simply stood near the barricade, watching the empty street beyond it. She could not avert her gaze, expecting a familiar silhouette to appear any second now. She knew that it would not happen. However, she couldn’t help but think that Mendes was about to emerge from behind a distant corner – wounded, but breathing. That she would have to rush to his aid. Guilt impaled her heart like a needle – so much so that she was on edge, her gaze fixed on the street. Especially since she had no idea what became of the gladiator.

She had little to no hope he would reemerge by the bonfire. Ramilda knew that when a person hollowed completely, they remained at the spot where they died last. She also knew that sometimes, one death was all it took for the last thread connecting the soul to the mind to get severed. Mendes did not look like a man who was _ready_ to hollow, but nothing could be said for certain.

“It’s not worth it,” she heard a voice nearby. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

Cayla stood beside her and crossed her arms. They looked at each other, and Ramilda stared at the empty street again.

“He’s not coming,” the brigand said. “If he’s lucky, he’s gonna find a bonfire out there, if not… Better just let it go. I know how you feel.”

Ramilda nodded slowly.

“So stupid,” she said as she turned her head to Cayla. “We split. Three of us on the side door, Somerset and him up front, on our signal. Wanted to make a pincer move on the demon. And as soon as we broke into the mansion, the Butchers got a drop on them. Snatched them right from under our noses,” the knight looked outwards again. “And right before it began, I said this was a good plan. It’s on me, understand? Plans always go up in smoke, I learned that long ago, but still…” she shook her head. “Can’t forgive myself.”

“Plans always go down the drain, you said it. And don’t blame yourself. It’s bullshit, you hear? You ain’t responsible for every random thing. You couldn’t know.”

“Yeah, I understand. Not my first time. Just doesn’t make it any easier, I guess,” Rami twisted her lips in a bitter smile.

“That’s our lot. You never know who is coming back and who’s not. But you can’t change that. Only get it through your head and move on. It sucks to lose people. I know, believe me.”

Ramilda nodded, struggling to come up with a reply.

“You know, I couldn’t call him a friend – we only knew each other for three days. But he was still one of us.”

“And you were responsible for him, too,” Cayla nodded knowingly.

“Exactly.”

They said nothing for a while, looking in the same direction. Cayla cursed quietly and gave Ramilda a friendly punch to the shoulder.

“Hang on, sister. You’re alive, and tomorrow’s another day,” she smiled and stepped aside. “You saw them through this shit, and that means you did something right.”

Rami grunted, her lips twisted, and nodded again.

“You are fine chaps,” Cayla went on. “I didn’t have to lash out at you like this. Should’ve come with you, but who knew. As Dorian says, “Trust, but verify.”

“No hard feelings. Thank you.”

Cayla clicked her tongue and winked at the knight.

“Thank _you._ See ya later.”

“Yeah, see you.”

Ramilda looked at the street for the last time and went to join her friends. She was feeling a little better now.

***

“We have two sprites of humanity,” Xendric said, placing the vials in the middle for everyone to see. “Let’s see who is not well, put your suggestions forward.”

Nobody was in a hurry to reply. Ramilda cleared her throat and spoke first:

“I think Xendric and Gabi could use some. Ryu, what do you say?”

“I second that.”

“No objections,” Somerset affirmed.

“No need, really,” Gabi jerked her head. “I’m used to hardships and tribulations.”

“Gabi, you’ve endured enough,” even with troubling thoughts on her mind, Ramilda couldn’t help but smile. “We don’t want you to go hollow here.”

“Especially seeing how you pulled us from the brink, twice,” Katsumoto added.

“I didn’t do anything significant,” the cleric insisted.

“Dear child, think of it like this,” Xendric said, putting on his smooth, kind, patronizing smile. “If you reclaim at least a shred of humanity, you would be able to help us more. Isn’t it a worthy aim? You would be able to endure, overcome and achieve much more than you can now.”

Gabi simply let out an accentuated sigh.

“Well, I suppose that’s a yes,” the mage concluded, pushing a vial of black essence closer to her. “Looks like that’s it.”

“I don’t know how to repay you, if only with amber herb – I have several bundles of it. I am rather good with herbs – I learned from the abbess in the monastery. Hope it can be useful. If you are versed in alchemy, master Xendric, you would be able to brew some crimson water with it and restore your energy.”

“Oh, believe me, I do know the purpose of that potion. Thank you in in any case.”

Ramilda nodded and stood up, stretching her arms. After wearing armor, especially damaged one, it was damn good to feel light in the whole body.

“Xendric, a word with you?”

“Yes, of course. Just let me… recover a little,” he shook the humanity vial in the air. “Don’t want to delay.”

She waited outside the door as the sorcerer finished the procedure. She remembered her own sensations, realizing how important it could be. When Xendric appeared before her, she closed the door and spoke:

“Look. It was awfully dangerous out there today. We all nearly got smoked, and if not for Gabi… You know, the flow of battle is often unpredictable, and when I couldn’t cover you, it was extremely perilous. In short,” she took her Estus flask and gave it to Xendric. “It’s yours. Gabi would likely stay near me almost always, and she can bail me, but you… you need a ‘helping hand’ in case it all gets mucked up. I can hold out, but Gabi might not reach _you_.

For the first time, she noticed Xendric was surprised in earnest, though it wasn’t too evident. Gathering his thoughts, the Carimian responded:

“I see what you mean, but… you know, if not for this flask, you could die many times.”

“I know,” Rami said quietly, averting her eyes.

“Maybe you’ll be better off keeping it. See this thing? It helped me quite a lot.”

He demonstrated his hand to her. Now, next to the Vinheim ring, it sported a new one – a convex blue stone in the shape of a tear embedded in a silver frame with engravings.

“Yes, I was meaning to ask, by the way… that blue glow I saw around you, just like with the Black Knight…”

“I took this ring off his gauntlet, you’re right.”

“What does it do?”

“Don’t you recognize it? I thought everybody heard that legend in Astora.”

“Wait… Let me see.”

She looked closer at the ring, comparing the shape and color of the stone, and finally remembered. She did hear the legend of the two twin rings crafted by the same master in two different lands for two inseparable souls who, as fate would have it, could not be together. Two tearstones of different colors symbolizing love, separation, death, and memory. If the sorcerer’s implications were true, it meant that one of those rings was now resting on his finger.

“Blue Tearstone Ring? One of the two?”

“Yes!”

“I heard the legend, but truth be told, I didn’t think they really existed.”

“They don’t merely exist. This precious little thing saved my life today. When the ringbearer is on the verge of death, it gives him strength and numbs the pain. So I held out much longer than I should have. Else, I would have just collapsed and died.”

“So that’s why…”

“Better keep the flask. Simply because… In short, I will try and stay out of the rascals’ way as much as I can.”

Ramilda nodded, slightly confused.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Xendric chuckled. “After all, I didn’t ask anyone when I took the ring. I simply reckoned that, perhaps, I could use it more than others did. As you see, I wasn’t mistaken!”

“You probably did right. We… we’ll think of something with the flask yet. Listen, there is one more thing we should discuss. Let’s invite Ryu as well.”

Xendric nodded in agreement. When the samurai came out, Ramilda spoke again.

“Listen. How do you think we should deal with Somerset? We were on thin ice yesterday. And thank Gwyn Cayla was reasonable. Some in her place would never tolerate this attitude.”

“A good question,” Xendric nodded. “Someone who might let you down in this situation is frankly not the best companion.”

“He is still my sworn brother, and I won’t leave him behind. He is a good fighter, even though he ignores orders sometimes…”

“By sometimes, you mean almost every time?” the samurai raised his eyebrows.

“I still think he is a good man, it’s just… I don’t know how to say it. What can you suggest, Ryu?”

Katsumoto sighed, arms crossed.

“I still don’t fully comprehend your western customs and codes of honor, especially since many people interpret them their own way, just like we do in the East. The matter should be resolved honorably, but I doubt I could give good advice.”

“You might not fully comprehend us, but you are a seasoned commander and you understand how to deal with subordinates. We might have different notions of honor, but people are the same everywhere, right?”

The samurai thought about it.

“I believe it’s useless to lean on him. He is too headstrong. If there were more of us, I would make short work of him, but we are in special circumstances. Can’t risk alienating people, even in his case – and if I were to behave like a commander should, that _would_ alienate him. You have to get through to him somehow, and you are better suited for it than I. Because I am no one to him, and he would reject my opinion in this regard, but you are a knight of Astora, just like him. You know and understand your ideals, which means you can better argue how to uphold these ideals – in _your_ mind. I think that’s the better way.”

“Well, sounds reasonable. I will try.”

“I feel you,” Xendric said. “It’s so painful to be disappointed in your childhood hero…”

These words bothered Ramilda – not only because of the wizard’s condescending tone. He clearly exaggerated her feelings towards Somerset, but Rami acknowledged that there was a grain of truth in it. She barely refrained from giving Xendric a hostile look, though her face could betray a hint of annoyance.

“Tell you what. He might not be the man he used to be.”

“Maybe it’s the hollowing that drives him mad? You know, sometimes, the mind is far less resilient than the body. Maybe if he recovers from the colossal loss of humanity, he will be able to think clearly again.”

“Yeah. Maybe…”

“I know you want to hope for the best. There is always hope.”

She couldn’t help but feel a faint hint of falsity in his words.

“It’s not about this. Hope is one thing, but this is life, and it’s imperative we do something. I’ll think on it.”

***

Fragrant herbal tea was steaming in the cups again. A pleasant warmth coursing through the veins was soothing, just as the atmosphere in Dorian’s study. Xendric noticed that after he last restored his humanity, his eyesight became sharp again, and the annoying sense of distraction that occasionally plagued him vanished without a trace. The big question was which dark corners of his memory would be revealed. But it looked like in order to get the answer, he had to have some sound sleep – that usually helped.

“I must tell you something about our… circumstances right away,” Dorian said, sipping his tea. “Since you upheld your end of the bargain honestly, I suppose we have no reason to distrust you anymore. Besides, unlike the previous party, you didn’t abuse our hospitality. You know, Xendric, I wanted to show you some gratitude.”

He opened one of the drawers and placed a small vial before the Xendric’s eyes. Behind the glass, a familiar black sprite was hovering.

“Please accept this as a pledge of the future to come. You probably realize that by doing this, I take a little something from ourselves. But I suppose that I… if I may say, invest in a… _proper_ enterprise.”

“I… am most grateful for that. It is a very generous gift.”

“Give it to someone from your party at your own discretion.”

“I will.”

“Now, as for the rest. Tell me, what are your plans for the future?”

“Good question. We will definitely be on our way to the bells soon – to the upper one, first of all. But certain… _details_ that we have learned make us wonder which path to take.”

“Well, as I promised, when you decide to go to the bridge, Cayla will accompany you. She is going to show you a safe passage up, circumventing the Taurus demon. The wyvern, I’m afraid, you will have to deal with on your own, but I’m sure you can sneak past it when it goes hunting.”

“I appreciate this greatly. Speaking of the bridge; does the wyvern nest on the opposite side of the bridge?”

“It does. In the middle of the bridge, inside one of the piers, there is a cell that you can hide in and sit out the wyvern’s rampage in case it notices you. Then you can slip through along the bridge’s underbelly. There are many hollows in the Parish, mostly Baldrians. When King Rendal passed through here, he crossed the bridge with the entire cohort of his knights. So you are quite likely to encounter them in there, aside from the soldiers. I know little else.”

“I see. These are disheartening news, but it’s better to know such things in advance.”

“If you can work it out with Cayla, she might help you distract the wyvern. The girl is quite temperamental, you understand.”

“We’ll see. If I may, I would like to distract you from pressing matters a little bit more – it is not often that I meet experts like you.”

“Oh but of course, I am all ears.”

“I happen to have this odd piece lying around in my pocket. Perhaps it might be familiar to you?”

He pulled out a ring made of an unusual metal – bronze-red was the color. Etched on its bezel were pale ochre symbols – lines and wedges in different combinations. Ancient Izalith cuneiform composed an exquisite inscription: “Flame knows the way.” A most peculiar piece he came to possess when he still had no Darksign. He could hardly remember how he got the ring and only recalled haggling with some collector of rare antiques. Xendric could feel magic within it – an odd, strange magic, unlike any sorcery known to him, and he knew that smart heads of Vinheim would pay dearly to examine it. And, just like it would smart heads of Vinheim, the purpose of this magic still eluded the sorcerer. Dorian took the ring and fiddled it with his fingers for a long time, trying to discern the magic that imbued it.

“The only thing I realized was that this is a genuine ring from Izalith,” Xendric clarified.

“You are exactly right, Xendric. Unfortunately, I can say little else. Except, of course, that it was made in a pre-demonic era and was likely worn by a member of the ruling family. Maybe even by Izalith herself or her daughters,” Xendric grunted at these words. “But what it does, I cannot say.”

“Well, thank you for the effort. I hope one day I will get to the bottom of it.”

“You know what advice I could give to you? Simply _wear_ this ring. It’s not harmful, that is for sure. Maybe the effect will manifest unexpectedly.”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Alright then, if you have some free time, shall we get down to the scrolls?”

“With great pleasure!” Dorian smiled. “Ah, I haven’t done this in a really long time…”

***

Swann finally decided to drag Somerset out to talk as soon as she was finished fixing her armor. As they walked into a separate room, she closed the door and stared at her sworn brother from under her brow, arms crossed.

“I’m listening,” Somerset said.

“You did realize they could draw blood back there? When we bumped into Cayla’s party? That they could simply slaughter us at the wave of a hand?”

The knight said nothing.

“Then why, tell me? Why did you make a show out of your pride?”

“Maybe because I have it? I could not do otherwise.”

“And for this, you put everyone else in danger? For _your_ pride’s sake?”

“Well, yes,” Leighton said nonchalantly. “I did exactly that.”

Ramilda closed her eyes, as if it was a lengthy blink. For a moment, she was at a loss.

“I see,” she sighed. “If _this_ is the case, I will keep that in mind. And here I thought a knight was supposed to place the good of others before the good of his own, but alright.”

“I thought you wanted to talk with me, not give a moralizing lecture.”

Swann tilted her head slightly.

“No, that’s exactly what I was going to talk about. Because if this is the case with you, then it looks like we got a problem on our hands. Which we have to resolve one way or another, hm?”

“I heard you perfectly well that evening. There’s no need to repeat that. I hope we won’t bring this up anymore. You cannot change nor bend the knight of Astora.”

She wanted to slam her fist into the wall, but held back.

“And you are saying this to another Astoran knight?”

“I am. Are you saying you’ve changed?”

“It looks strange to me. Supposedly, we are both knights of Astora and should uphold the same principles, but it plays out differently. Tell me… remind me, why are you here? You spoke very noble words to me back in the Firelink.”

“To fight the Curse. I still adhere to this purpose.”

“To fight the Curse. And you want to lift the Curse from _all_ people, right?”

“Yes.”

“So riddle me this then. What about _them_ – those around us right now?” she pointed to the side. “Does it apply to them, too? Aren’t _they_ humanity to you? Or do they suddenly cease to be that simply because they wounded your personal pride? And you are ready to brand them and kill them just for this? How are they worse than others and why do they deserve this from you? Do you think they became this way because life was all sunshine to them?”

“No. But if I treated everybody like this, I would have no need to fight and kill anyone. My idea of honor is perfectly clear. I don’t want to save people from all of their miseries. Only from the Curse. I’m not responsible for their vices. And I _will_ fight if the vices of people contradict my ideals.”

“Of _what_ people? It seems to me you speak of very abstract, faceless people. It’s easy enough to swear oaths and make promises when you swear before an image, not the actual living souls. Humans are complicated. And the same goes for those who live here. I’m sorry to say this, but it’s just that they live in a shithole. They live in a world where every day is a fight for survival, and the Curse hit them harder than anyone. And why can’t we, the knights who were taught virtues, forgive them? And realize that they’re used to judging people by their actions, not their words? We have proved ourselves today – and look at how differently they see us now. I don’t think we should blame them for distrusting us at first. Because those who came before us behaved in a very unchivalrous fashion. Is it so hard to forgive these people?” Ramilda sighed. “You may not listen to me, but I believe that as a knight of Astora, I have the right to tell another Astoran knight what I think of our virtues.”

“Absolutely.”

“And I think that if you want to help people get rid of the Curse, you must learn to understand and _accept_ them for who they are. Ordinary, diverse people. Not just some imaginary humanity, but at least those next to you, those who _wait_ for this deliverance like no one else on earth. Maybe then… it’s going to be easier for you,” she paused, gathering her thoughts. “You know, back in Astora, we had to travel and campaign in different lands where people treated us very differently. And I simply realized… that if you impose your rules on everybody and always want it to be your way, without even considering how _these_ people do business, and how they are different from you… it will amount to nothing. Our commander, captain de Plancy, always preferred to listen first; and observe; and adapt, one way or another. So that in the end, we could uphold our principles _and_ resolve the situation wisely. Because sometimes, you can’t simply force it. Start pushing your morals everywhere with no regard for the people – they simply won’t understand you. Or better yet, they will skewer you with a pitchfork. Yeah. That happened in Guiscar, too – to the hotheads that came before us when there was unrest in the south. And if you want to change people, you can’t do this right away.”

“I’m not trying to change people. You misunderstand what I’m saying.”

“I simply understand that… I’m sorry if I’m wrong, but people that exist in your imagination and actual humans are two different things.”

“They don’t ‘exist in my imagination’. They are people I knew before. Who I lived with side by side. And now, I’m surrounded by a different lot.”

“So, what people surrounded you back then?”

“The honest. The kind. The decent.”

“Hm, right,” Ramilda’s smile was not a kind one. “And of course, they all shared your ideals completely?”

“No. But they didn’t trample my dignity. And the honor of the Knights of Astora.”

“I see. So, what now? You are ready to forgive people who know nothing about the Curse, but not ready to forgive those who suffered from it most of all for simply being rude?”

“No, I can’t. They chose it themselves, so let them reap the storm. I don’t have to bend to them simply because life made them rough. What they did – what they do – is wrong, and there is no excuse for it. All their threats, their banditry, and their wicked ways.”

“I’m not saying what they did was right! I’m saying they deserve forgiveness! They are not evil men who you think them to be! You are seeing ghosts, Somerset!”

“I’m simply following my conscience and my principles. Nothing else.”

“Be honest with me. Anytime something like this happens again, should I be expecting the same behavior from you?”

“Most likely.”

Ramilda let out a long sigh and shook her head.

“Well, thanks for being honest, at least,” she walked away abruptly, but turned back towards Somerset halfway to the door. “I don’t know what they taught you in the Order. But when my father was in the Knights, one of the virtues they taught was _humility._ A knight must endure slights, blows and ridicule, not hold petty grudges. What you demonstrate here is hubris, Somerset. It’s going to lead us nowhere.”

The knightess pierced Somerset with her eyes for the last time and walked out of the room. She hadn’t felt that disgusted in a very long time.


	5. Sunlit Ruins

_It is over._

_The army is no more. The soldiers, the knights, the king – all gone. How could we be so blind? The disintegration started as early as the Valleys. We all saw that, watched our comrades turn undead, but we considered them acceptable losses to the last. Yet, this was a sign, an unmistakable harbinger of disaster, because we should have known it would only get worse. One could easily dispatch a handful of hollows when the entire host is at your command, but what if half of this host joins the ranks of the undead after the first unsuccessful battle? When the fallen become the enemies of the living? When even the living can wake up with a brand on their body…?_

_We should have turned back and selected a handful of champions, our mightiest and most skillful warriors, for whom casualties would be an insignificant factor, who could act with precision, and without burdens plaguing a large army. I am sure, they would have succeeded where the entire king’s host could not. But it is too late to talk about this now; we didn’t do this._

_Sometimes, I ask myself why we fought to the end. Why we didn’t turn back while we still had the chance. Knightly honor? Warrior’s pride? It makes no sense. Even before the Parish and the battle for the bridge, we could all see the consequences we would suffer if we push for the bell. Neither the king nor the generals were fools. It should have been obvious to them that, militarily speaking, the campaign was doomed. And after the losses we suffered on the bridge, without even capturing the inner walls, even the most fanatical zealot would realize what was coming our way. Thrice His Majesty had the chance to turn back – and two of these times, it appeared to be the only sensible choice. What then, if not pride, made him give that fateful order to press on…?_

_And where were the generals, where were we, the knights, to dissuade him, to stop the madness? Many will condemn me for these words – for casting doubt upon judgement and good sense of our monarch. But there is a fine line between a reasonable monarch and an autocratic despot! And His Majesty never was a despot. One could hardly say he was without sin. But then we, too, are knee-deep in that sin. No, no matter how much I ask myself, I still come to the conclusion that pride was our downfall. Because we were the best army in the entire world. Because no one could bring us to our knees. Because we were not used to losing. Because we swore an oath before the entire realm, swore to end the Curse. And we played this role, we got into character so well that we couldn’t turn back even when we fully realized what awaits us. We allowed fatalism to dictate our actions, as opposed to reason, and this fatalism prevented us from accepting the fact that we have **already** lost, and that we must find another way. We could not admit defeat and brought destruction upon ourselves._

_And we marched to this final assault, marched with dignity, with our heads held high. Only so that we all could say that we fought valiantly – and died valiantly. We buried the king with full honors, and then the hollows destroyed what was left. Our banners, our regiments, all the Purple Cloaks and even the invincible knight-king – all perished. No, we lost more than just an army. Balder itself died beneath these walls. Without the king and the army, our country is doomed. The Curse is already consuming it, and soon, the vultures will start their feast, and those who survive will scatter across the world to the four winds._

_And because of this, I ask: what is the worth of all our knightly honor, all our pride, if we spelled doom for our country? What is the worth of our oaths if they proved to be empty? Any knight would object to that: an oath is an oath. And it should be honored to the bitter end, even if you face certain death. But what if that is exactly the thing that makes an oath hollow? It seems to me that, even more than our fatal pride, we were all undone by our egos. For even in death, even in keeping our oath, we were, in the end, saving ourselves. Ourselves – and our memory, but not the country. Not the people we swore to deliver. For it was still not too late to turn back, to preserve the army and embark on a great exodus. We would conquer any territory, we would vanquish anyone who would try to oppose Balder’s survival. But, ironically, we who swore to reject ourselves for the good of others, could not bring ourselves to do that in our darkest hour. And it is completely our fault._

_And so, here I am. Perhaps, the last knight of Balder leaving Lordran with the last banner in hand. I return to the Curse-stricken land to witness the end – even more terrible than our catastrophe. Dagobert, my dear friend, I am sorry I left you – all of you. I hope someday, someone would give you a merciful end. For I, too, am guilty of plain selfishness. I could come up with endless excuses: I could say I was salvaging the last banner, that such were my orders and my duty. That I could not save anyone else, couldn’t persuade the last few desperate who stayed behind. But it wouldn’t change the fact that I leave simply to save myself. From death, from insanity, from the Curse – what difference does it make…? Like others, I cannot be forgiven. I only know one thing: there should be at least someone who would tell the story of this disaster. Who would remember how the mighty have fallen. And how close were the stars that we, in the end, could not reach._

_– Diary of Elvrich Sommer, standard-bearer of the Knights of Balder._

***

The events, it seemed, took their natural course.

It was three days since their fellowship assembled, and Ramilda could feel a familiar pace return into her life. First triumphs, first losses, new problems and new faces – she remembered it all since the campaigns back in the day. Maas, Guiscar, Carradia, Artholon – all these places were now surfacing in her memory. Long ago, during her first deployment, it was all new, strange, and unfamiliar, and every campaign added its own flavor to the taste of fire and steel, a bouquet of its own aspects and events. Yet, in essence, they all resembled one another, and she grew accustomed to the fear, the casualties, the triumphs and sorrows, the everyday routine, and the fight for survival.

Her father used to tell her quite a lot about his own campaigns, but the sixteen-year-old tomboy redhead was barely prepared for the reality of war. Only after three exhausting months in the Maas valley did she realize that, most of the time, she and her sworn brothers and sisters would not be fighting the enemy. Instead, they would be haggling for living quarters, looking for food and other simple pleasures, relocating, waiting, and occasionally go mad from idleness. On the other hand, the Knights of Astora were always spearheading the war effort, and the Order’s commanders didn’t let their forces stagnate and get rusty.

War was different – and exactly the same – every time. In some places, the people welcomed the knights with open arms, others were hostile to them, and some didn’t even know what to think. “The Flower Knights” tried not to get mired in political squabbles, their goal being that of defending Astora from its enemies, both from outside and from within. Sometimes, however, it was not only demons and monsters who posed an internal threat, and the renegade lords splintering off the vast realm could also be proclaimed an internal threat by the Crown.

Obviously, Astora no longer was a small principality from the days of yore, neither was it a patchwork of some-independent fiefdoms that it used to be hundreds of years ago. The royal power was strong, and most of the country was unified. But because of various conflicts with its neighbors, big and small, the Crown of Astora exerted power over many different domains with their own history, and not all of them were loyal to the realm. The borderlands in the east and the south were always turbulent, with various principalities and fragments of neighboring powers being a bone of contention. And even though the Knights of Astora tried to distance themselves from the local wars over territory and big politics alike, they were, ironically, a major power in the Astoran politics and had firm ties with the establishment. Which is why, whenever a local conflict posed a potentially bigger threat to Astora, they had no room to maneuver, and swords were drawn.

Their creed, however, always implied protecting the weak, as was befitting for the knights. They couldn’t _always_ achieve that due to the strategic needs of their campaigns; the knights were a fearsome military force, and wasting their potential on garrison duties would be highly imprudent. However, out of all the military forces of Astora, they were the ones emphasizing the safety of civilians the most. In the wartime chaos, incidental civilian casualties were unavoidable, but the Order’s knights were famously benevolent and respectful to the locals, even in hostile territories. They tried to safeguard the civilians as best they could, sometimes at their own expense, sometimes even at the cost of their own lives. To commit a war crime was unthinkable, although the Order was not without bad apples, like any aggressive force. The Knights’ brass, however, punished such crimes and misconduct invariably, as opposed to many other commanders who preferred to turn a blind eye. The Knights couldn’t save everyone, but they went out of their way striving to be not only warriors, but also peacekeepers. And when the trumpets fell silent, they always stayed behind in a ravaged land, helping to heal the scars.

Through the campaigns of days past, Ramilda grew accustomed to the flow of war. And now, as she was finished mending her armor and was making some tea from herbs gifted by Cayla, the knightess could once again feel that unpredictable yet familiar flow. For a long time, as she was on her way to Lordran, she felt nothing of the sort – mostly because she was all alone. A traumatic memory of her own death, as well as the sorrow of separation with her friends, loomed over her like dark clouds. Now, as their own little campaign has begun, she felt sure-footed again.

She had no friends from the Order at her side, no sense of a shoulder to lean on. The enemy was undefined, and the aims still unclear. But the everyday struggle spun its familiar thread, tossing their small fellowship from side to side, and Ramilda found it all to be strangely soothing. To look for quarters day in and day out, scrounging for supplies and even small pleasures, like a cup of tea on a quiet evening after the fight. The whistling tea-pot felt homely, and negotiating with the locals and building long-term relationships with them was nothing new. Of course, they had their share of troubles, and sorrow was always somewhere near, but Swann felt firmly that she was in the right place. And as her new comrades were slowly bonding, she was ready to act as a pillar for them if needs be.

She doled out the drink to the others and made sure Gabi felt alright. The last two cups were for herself and Xendric who stayed in a separate room. Ramilda found the sorcerer copying a sorcery scroll that he had likely borrowed from Dorian. She greeted him with a nod as the wizard raised his head.

“Sorry, did I disturb you?”

“No, not at all! Come on in. Something happened?”

“No,” Rami smiled as she closed the door with a leg push. “Just wanted to talk.”

“Ah, but of course! I am always willing to chat,” the sorcerer smiled back as he took one of the cups. “My thanks.”

“Skimmed some of that goodness off Cayla; she was very generous.”

“That was very sweet of her.”

“Yeah,” Swann nodded, sitting down on a mat opposite him. “She is a nice person, actually. Not much in the manners department, but it’s not her fault…”

“Who could she learn them from?” Xendric chuckled, sipping at the hot drink. “One can’t judge her too harshly.”

“Well, when you grow up in a place like this, living this life…”

“Exactly. Thanks for the drink again – I definitely needed that to rebalance my thoughts.”

“Good thing there’s something to be found aside from Estus, eh?” Ramilda smiled. “You know, Cayla told me that food is almost a luxury to them. Well, not exactly, but what they grow in the orangery is not enough for _all_ of them, so they have to ration it.”

“Understandable,” the sorcerer nodded. “Understandable. I suppose, if you think too much about such things, sooner or later, you’ll find yourself a little more, heheh, hollow.”

“Who knows. Have you read that recent treatise on the undead? ‘The Book of the Last Days.”

“I did. Quite a curious manuscript – it was hard not to notice if you are an avid reader.”

“I was just thinking that Ælswith had all but confirmed what was written there. As long as you are driven by some goal… you may come back to life many times, but once you lose sight of it and despair – you go hollow.”

“Hard to argue with that. Although we happen to have somewhat of a contradiction in our fellowship,” he suddenly moved his palm awkwardly and winced from the pain.

“Something with your hand?”

“It’s fine, don’t you worry. It’s only my old bones. Sometimes, I forget that the years take their toll, and the flexibility I once had will not return.”

“Well, at least now that we are undead, it won’t get any worse,” Ramilda forced a smile.

“Define ‘worse’. Truth be told, I would prefer not being undead and prolonging my mortal coil by other means.”

“Couldn’t agree with you more. But for an old undead, you’re not looking half bad,” she toasted jokingly, and Xendric grinned.

“Oh my, thank you, darling, how kind of you, what a compliment! I don’t even know how I should respond.”

“Well, I suppose I just forgot that I’m not in my sworn brothers’ company, and I can’t exactly get lippy and all too humorous.”

“Oh, you can get lippy with _me_ all you want! It’s far more interesting than keeping up appearances all the time.”

The mage laughed, and Ramilda chuckled in response, but turned serious pretty fast.

“Yeah. You know… since we are talking about the Curse… to me, it’s sad to look at Somerset and… what’s happening to him. The way he _is _right now. I caught myself thinking that… Father used to tell me about him. They were close friends when they served together on the frontier. And, if my father is to be believed, he tried to take an example from Somerset. He told me he was noble and brave, sort of a hero admired by everyone, that he sacrificed himself for his comrades – and for the people they shielded. He died in a skirmish as they were protecting a village from a superior force. In their position, some would just leave the peasants to die and let the village get sacked, but they counterattacked. Somerset was the first one to lead a distracting maneuver to draw the attackers away and died. And it occurred to me: wasn’t my father simply… embellishing the truth? Wasn’t it just wishful thinking on his part?”

“Why?”

“Well, maybe… it was easier for him to see this pure, untarnished image he fancied? Because he wanted to see his friend this way. Only this way.”

“It’s hard to tell. What was your father’s name, by the way?”

“Thurmod Swann.”

“And he was a knight of Astora, just like you?”

“Yeah. Made it all the way up to commander. He was a distinguished, respected man in the Order, trusted by the former Grand Master. I always tried to be like him.”

“I see. Well, I suppose, we shouldn’t discard my presumption about Somerset. Maybe that part of him that was responsible for all the ‘heroism’ and ‘chivalry’ has simply vanished into the abyss and got twisted.”

“Who knows. I’d like to believe that. Seeing how he made it known to me that he won’t curb his ‘pride’, and if someone crosses him again, he won’t hesitate to take up the sword.”

“Really? Well then. I was about to show you the gift from Dorian anyway,” Xendric pulled out a flask with the black essence. “I suppose we should use it accordingly.”

“Whoa. He gave you a whole sprite?”

“Yes, it was quite generous of him. I just thought that _maybe_ our friend’s dementia _might_ wane, if he recovers a little.”

“Well, we shall try. Don’t think that I’m feeling down – I’m not in the habit of falling apart, it’s just… It is a little sad to see a person you thought of as a hero… not to live up to the reputation.”

“Poor child,” Xendric shook his head with a sigh and looked at Ramilda with compassion. “What can I say? I think that believing _anyone_ to be immaculate is not a good idea in general.”

“That’s right,” she pretended not to notice the patronizing tone. “Else you’re setting yourself up for disappointment.”

“Well, it’s also because nobody is immaculate. I, for my part, have met none at all. Maybe it’s just my bad experience speaking?” Xendric chuckled. “Did you meet any?”

“No,” Ramilda shook her head and sipped at the tea. “You know, all of us have some flaws. Big or small – that’s a different matter, but where would you find a sinless saint?”

“Exactly. That’s what I’m saying.”

“Even the clerics will tell that you can’t find a saint amongst people,” the knight dropped the seriousness for a bit. “You should look to the gods for an example! Gwyn the Lightbringer and some such!”

Xendric laughed and nodded understandingly.

“Yes. Yes, indeed.”

“I think they had their own flaws, too.”

“Entirely possible. The legends simply don’t mention it. Because, supposedly, it was not important. But I find it hard to imagine a paragon of virtue with nary a defect. Perhaps, I am simply callous, but perhaps it is true.”

“Virtue is an ideal. You can strive for an ideal, but it’s hard to live up to it.”

“Maybe even unnecessary,” the sorcerer shrugged.

Ramilda paused to ponder. Discussing morals and virtues was commonplace in the Order, but saying something like that would earn a knight some greasy eye.

“I suppose one could at least try.”

“Certainly, but wouldn’t you say that our wicked ways are something that makes us human? By trying to achieve the pinnacle of virtue, don’t people fancy themselves equal to gods?” he squinted slyly and twisted his lips in a provocative smile.

“Yes, but in so doing, they only forfeit their virtue and fall victim to vanity, hubris or… something else.”

“Exactly. It’s probably worth it to strive for an ideal, but one has to keep many things in mind.”

“Perhaps. Father taught me that virtue is often not so much _what_ we must do, but what _guides_ our decisions. The same deed can be both good and bad in different circumstances.”

“Of course! Especially seeing how those are… quite relative notions, if you think about it.”

“Maybe,” Ramilda nodded. “I’m not a master of such philosophy. Besides, in this joust, you will unseat me easily,” she smiled at the sorcerer. “Can I ask for a favor?”

“It depends.”

“I would like to _humbly_ ask you not to call me a child from now on.”

“You know I’m doing this out of affection,” Xendric kept smiling.

“No disrespect, but I don’t like being patronized. I’m used to following people who _earn_ respect, not simply take it for granted owing to their age and whatnot.”

“I understand. But you have to admit, for example, that you’re always going to be a child to your parents.”

Rami crossed her arms and looked at the mage sideways with a sly smile.

“Granted, but I don’t suppose you are my kin.”

“Hm. Interesting, am I old enough to be your grandfather?”

“Good question. How old are you?”

“I was sixty when I died.”

“Uh-huh. Well, you could be, as a matter of fact. Seriously though, let’s do without paternalism. Can’t stand it.”

“Oh, I understand, it’s always unpleasant. But I also understand that you are a mature, responsible, brave knight,” the sorcerer flashed his irresistible smile again.

Ramilda took a long sip just to think of an answer.

“Now you’re flattering me,” she smiled.

The sorcerer laughed.

“Not at all! How could you even suspect me of this?”

“Yeah, sure,” she nodded with a smile.

“It’s just that, as the years go by, and you look back… Even when you see people far younger than you act in a very mature way, you still realize how much they still have to understand. And this… affects your thinking, for better or worse.”

Either Xendric tried to back out, fearing he could hit a nerve, or he kept playing the part subtly.

“I can see that. What did you do in life?”

“Sorcery?” the wizard smiled. “I didn’t give it up when I died.”

“That much is obvious, I’m just interested to hear the details. You’ve only mentioned you were a court mage, that’s it.”

“I served at the court of Duke Arstor of Carim. It was quite nice, up until a certain point. That is, until I died.”

“I heard many things about the Duke. But I’m sure at least half of them are just rumors and dirty stories spread by his political opponents.”

“What _did_ you hear?”

Ramilda shrugged.

“He allegedly had people impaled, tortured, experimented on them, all those things. As if torture was only his ‘privilege’. Besides, all these are pretty tall stories told by those who benefit from them. He impales one man – they will attribute a hundred to him. I heard he was really called the Impaler for a jousting accident, when he impaled his opponent with a lance, not for the executions.”

“Yes, the tournament story is pretty much true. I must say, His Grace fancied that lance of his, and he was a remarkable warrior.”

“What kind of person was he? You tell me.”

“That’s a good question. I’m afraid, his personality has largely remained in a concealed part of my memory. But what I can say is that His Grace earned his… reputation for a reason. He was no sadist, and I wouldn’t even call him that brutal, but he was ruthless with his enemies, that much is true. Especially with traitors. But he was a master of political maneuvering and didn’t rule with an iron fist alone.”

“Did you lose much of your memory when you turned?”

“Not exactly. It only happened after I died several times. They hunted me for a long time with great zeal. One time, I perished because I wasn’t careful; the other time, it was the hunters who made a mistake. Only then was I taken alive, and the Asylum damaged my memory even more. I even lost my keen perception until recently, though I never suffered from bad eyesight. I’m still restoring my memory. I can recall some things, but the rest is shrouded in fog. But I hope that, in time, it all comes back to me. It’s very sad – to lose such a big part of yourself.”

Ramilda nodded in recognition.

“Sorry, I can understand if you don’t want to speak about it.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to; it’s just that it’s really difficult to remember.”

“Does humanity help?”

“It does. That distractedness I mentioned is now gone.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Have _you_ experienced death?”

“Only once. When I turned undead.”

Xendric chuckled.

“Perhaps, you were lucky in a sense.”

“Yeah,” Ramilda’s face grew dark as memories flooded her mind. “If there is anything I truly fear, it is losing myself.”

“It’s scary, certainly. But, even after I died five times, I didn’t come that close to it. Memories are an important part of your character, but unless the memory loss becomes catastrophic, you can function without them.”

“Right. For others, though, one death is all it takes.”

“Maybe they didn’t have much purpose in their lives to begin with?”

“Who knows? They might’ve had purpose, but not the will to pursue it…”

“That’s more or less what I meant. Since we’re talking, how did it happen to you?”

“I served in the company of Captain Conrad de Plancy. Went through four campaigns and three small-scale missions under his command. Including Guiscar five years ago – maybe you’ve heard of it.”

“It does ring a bell.”

“Then, several months ago, we were sent to quell the revolt of a certain margrave in the Sylvan March. Your average frontier feudal lord who thought he could do whatever he felt like doing in his domain and tyrannize people, as if the Crown had no power over him. He secured the support of an independent principality and started raiding neighboring territories. Long story short, both the locals and the neighbors got sick and tired of him playing a petty tyrant, and up there in the capital, they couldn’t leave it at that. The king passed an edict that stripped the margrave of all lands and titles, and we were dispatched to clean up the mess. This margrave had a small army of his own, so it definitely was no cakewalk, but we rolled him pretty fast. Forced him out of his castle – the bastard managed to escape though. He sat in the woods with what was left of his army, causing trouble, and didn’t want to surrender. Thought he could sit us out. So… I was in charge of a small squadron on patrol duty. One day, a village gets raided – they kill the men, burn the huts, take the poultry, all as usual. They set up an ambush for us – they knew the knights won’t let them get away with this. So we send scouts ahead, they discover the ambush, we then flank it and strike – complete massacre, we just demolished them. A couple of survivors try to escape on horseback, so we naturally give chase. And then, I get shot by a gunner from behind a tree. A bullet right through the heart,” Xendric winced at these words. “I fly out of the saddle, and the last thing I can remember is the gray sky behind the naked branches.”

Ramilda pressed her chin against her palm.

“I remember, it was terribly painful and really, really scary. I suppose… nothing can quite prepare you for that. I was wounded in battle before, one time quite seriously. But, as much as I can put on a brave face, I have to admit: at that instant, I was damn well terrified. When I realized I was dying. When I realized this was the last thing I’ll ever see. And there will be no life, no friends, no songs, nothing. I think… you can’t be ready for that. Even if you are a seasoned warrior.”

“Yes, I suppose…”

“I heard stories from Conrad and other people in the Knights, how even the bravest lost it on the brink of death, when they _realized_ that it was the end. And those guys were tough as nails. Even if you faced danger all your life, you simply get overwhelmed by the sheer terror.”

She went quiet for a moment, peering through the air with a far-away gaze. That day was left far behind, but even now, the vestiges of despair she experienced then caught up with her.

“Were you afraid when death came after you?” Ramilda asked, looking at Xendric.

“I suppose, I had it easier than you did. I didn’t even realize what was happening.”

“How did it happen?”

“Rapidly. Almost painlessly. I don’t think they were merciful – they simply wanted to be done with the job fast.”

“Who were they, if I may ask?”

“My assassins,” Xendric smiled. “You know, when you accumulate influence in court, some people might not like it at all. Sometimes, they even resort to killing.”

“Yeah, I figured. Did it happen after the Duke died, or was he still in power?”

“He was still alive at the time. I only learned of his death much later.”

“I see. His death was quite a shady affair, by the way – I didn’t look into it, just heard rumors. No idea if you know more about any of this.”

“Like what?”

“Allegedly, the Duke didn’t really die, and the body in the coffin was not his. And the Duke just vanished into the unknown.”

“It is possible. Sometimes it is a good political move if you need to lay low, provided it’s done right.”

“Yes. Still, we humans love to invent these fables… Some part of us doesn’t want to believe that a person has really died. Especially if they were larger-than-life personality. For some… it’s easier that way. They simply want to believe in a just lord who will return one day. No need to look any further than King Gwyn,” Rami laughed.

“True. Well, it’s not outside the realm of possibility, considering the Curse.”

“After all, some might think that you too had vanished,” Rami drank the rest of her tea.

“Hahaha, yeah… Maybe,” Xendric kept chuckling. “Go find the body of an undead sorcerer.”

“Right?” the knight laughed. “Do you still have… people over there who were dear to you?”

“Regrettably, I can’t remember.”

“It’s so hard on you…” she sighed.

“What about you?”

“That’s quite a story. When I came to my senses, my comrades were already hauling me to the castle. They were quite horrified. What a bedlam it was… Frido and I barely quelled them. He was my friend – and second in command. When we returned, naturally, I reported everything as it was… They took me in custody, locked in a cell, and the captain told me my fate was likely unenviable, but he would try and do something. It seriously hurt when some of my… former comrades started looking at me like I was a beast. Quite a few of them, in fact. ‘Ramilda is not human anymore, she is undead.’ Which means, she shouldn’t be treated like a human.”

“Did all your comrades seriously succumb to this?”

“No, far from it. And I’m very grateful for this. I was locked up for a month, and all this time, they tried to support me. Some even tried to hatch a plan of escape,” she laughed. “Frido and Leonora. They came up with a plan almost instantly.”

“How sweet,” Xendric laughed.

“Right. And the captain tried to receive a special mandate from the Grand Master, so that the Order could use me even in that capacity, but he was refused. So, in the end, the captain broke me out himself with some loyal men.”

“He really did?”

“Yeah. He just walked into the cell one day and told me everything – how they will escort me, the whole cover story… In short, as far as the brass knows, I simply captured a horse and ran away from the convoy. What really happened was they escorted me into the forest, gave me all my weapons, armor, the horse, the gear, and sent me north.”

“He is a very merciful man, that captain of yours.”

“He is. Merciful and intelligent. I owe him everything,” Swann went quiet for a moment. “I miss them sometimes. I still want to think that I’m going to see them one day, but… as I left, I accepted the thought that I was leaving them forever. Frido, Nora, Cenwulf… Æthelstan… Captain de Plancy… You understand how I feel?”

“Yeah, I think so. On the other hand, even without looking back, you can still achieve much. I understand it’s of little solace, but still…”

“It’s very true,” Rami smiled as she fixed her red ponytail. “When my parents died, and I joined the Order, I left everything behind. My parents’ home and all that.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, but I think it’s a story for another time. I’m talking too much.”

“Afraid to bore me? That’s so sweet of you.”

“Something like that. I don’t know if you’re interested to hear those stories. I would gladly listen to yours if you feel like sharing.”

“Thank you, I will keep that in mind. Just know that you can always come and tell me anything. It was interesting to listen to you. Who knows, maybe one day I will be able to help you somehow.”

“Thanks. You can always count on me. And… thanks for listening. I guess, I just needed to vent.”

“It’s all fine – I have plenty of patience. You know… heh heh, the young ones have reasons to hurry, to make haste… even if they are undead,” the sorcerer smiled merrily. “Me, I’m not in a hurry whatsoever.”

“The old, for their part, have a lot of stories to tell.”

“I suppose. Unless you are a hollow amnesiac.”

“Haha! Do you remember much of your days in Vinheim? When _you_ were young?”

“I guess… quite a lot. Everything is… so messed up. The shards of memories I see before me… are mixed with complete, pitch-black darkness. And I can’t see through it.”

“I hope you will reclaim your memories yet. Sooner or later.”

“Well, that depends on all of us!”

“We’re going to pull through,” Ramilda smiled.

“I think so. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I should get back to copying.”

“Sure,” Ramilda rose to her feet and went for the door. “Thanks for the talk!”

“Thanks for the tea. Sleep well, my child!”

“Sleep well, grandpa,” Ramilda laughed. “Old men just can’t help themselves. Take care.”

***

They went with the plan in the morning and gave the humanity essence to Somerset. Only time could tell if that would have any effect on Leighton, but Ramilda wanted to hope for the best. Xendric did his magic with some ingredients provided by Gabi and the undead merchant, brewing a two bottles’ worth of crimson water. Cayla and her men promised they would look for their missing friend in the sewers, though they had little faith he could survive on his own.

The fellowship took Laurentius along and traveled back to the Firelink Shrine. The pyromancer turned out to be a great companion and kept up the conversation all the way, joking and telling stories from the Great Swamps. He could barely stop talking, as opposed to Gabi – quiet and detached. Ramilda kept glancing at her; the girl clearly needed some time to get used to new circumstances and new companions. The knight exchanged a few words with her on the way. She didn’t ask too much, but she found out that, for a long time, Gabi was a novice in a monastery; in the end, she didn’t become a nun, opting for the clergy instead. She omitted the circumstances of her first death, and Rami didn’t intend to pry.

“That cleric you spoke about,” Gabi said. “Father Petrus… What is he like?”

“Hard to say. I think he’s a sly silver-tongued fox. And he offers to teach miracles for a ‘modest’ fee.”

“I see what you mean. I guess I should talk to the man. I hope… he will understand my circumstances.”

“Don’t worry. You’re safe with us.”

The cleric nodded with a smile.

Petrus of Thorolund and his manservant were still waiting for their companions to arrive. Seeing the party approach, Petrus came forward and greeted them with a slight bow.

“Hello,” he said with a drag as he smiled. “I see you were fortunate in your undertaking and made it back alive?”

“More or less,” Xendric responded. “Greetings.”

“I see that one of your companions is missing though. However, some new faces came along as well,” he looked at Gabi and nodded at her.

“Yes, unfortunately, we lost one of our comrades. How is it going with you?”

“Nothing in particular. As you can see, we are still expecting our companions. Either something is holding them up, or I was a tad hasty,” the cleric spread his hands. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t bother you then. Though I hope we will have a chance to talk before you leave again.”

He gave Gabi a suggestive look and took his leave. The Crestfallen, for his part, was doing something peculiar – whetting his sword blade methodically. As he raised his head towards the party, he put on a sad smile.

“Look who came back. So what, did you make it to the bell? I can’t recall hearing it ring from the mountain top.”

“Not yet,” Ryu replied. “I see you are whetting your blade. Something changed? Did you decide to try and do something?”

“Oh, no, nothing in particular. I simply don’t like to neglect my weapons.”

“Leave it, Ryu, the man is set in his ways,” Ramilda said as she dropped her backpack.

“Alright,” the samurai nodded, “can’t argue with that. It’s his right to sit and rot away doing nothing.”

The Crestfallen chuckled and leaned back against a crumbled pillar. It looked like he wasn’t going to respond to that.

“I see you dragged the swamp pyromancer along?” he glanced at Laurentius, who stood at the ledge overlooking the Valleys. “Well, at least now I’ll have someone to talk to. Can’t chitchat forever with that sanctimonious cleric… At least the heretics are not as hypocritical.”

“Has anyone passed through here while we were gone?” Swann asked.

“Well… as a matter of fact, yes. I think he was from Vinheim – an apprentice, if I am correct.”

“From Vinheim?” Xendric perked up. “What was his name?”

“Oh, wish I could remember… Griggs. That’s right, Griggs. I wonder what happened to him.”

“Where did he go?”

“Across the aqueduct, just like you. Went on and on about this ‘master Logan’ and how he admired the man, how he wanted to find him… yeah-yeah. Said he’d try to look for him there, but I haven’t seen him since. If you didn’t see him, it might mean he perished somewhere… Well, he had it coming. If Big Hat himself didn’t return, what chance does he have? I hope he likes being hollow.”

The name of Big Hat rang a bell to Ramilda. She heard of a famous wizard, Logan of Megenberg, an eccentric scholar and brilliant sorcerer, but she knew little of him. His recent disappearance caused a stir in Vinheim and beyond. It seemed clear now that Logan had departed for Lordran, or even became undead himself, and was looking for something in the land of the ancient lords.

“That’s funny,” Xendric said, tugging at his chin musingly. “Didn’t think I would discover Logan’s trail here,” he turned to his companions. “In case you didn’t know, Logan is the man to whom I owe the wonderful spell of the Soul Spear. Matter of fact, he is a great magician, I dare say. Which means, if he’s still alive… it would be not bad at all to find him. We studied together in our alma mater.”

“You knew the Big Hat?” Laurentius asked as he came closer. “We in the Swamps heard of him, too. He even visited us once, spoke to the elders. He was trying to find vestiges of the ancient fire sorcery – and to get a clear picture of how we conjured the fire.”

“I see,” Xendric smiled. “He always was an explorer.”

“That’s true. I didn’t meet him myself, only heard of him. Didn’t think he would wind up here.”

“I had no idea either. When did you see him last?” he turned towards the Crestfallen.

“About three, four weeks ago. I’m not keeping track of time here.”

“Well, we can still hope to find him,” Xendric concluded. “Lordran seems to have a deluge of extraordinary people.”

“You don’t say. Heroes of our time popping up left and right… Makes you feel quite inadequate, to be honest!”

At that moment, the short manservant appeared. Ignoring everyone else, he addressed Gabi:

“Greetings. My lord wishes to speak with you. If milady wills it, please follow me.”

“Yes, of course,” she nodded as she looked at the rest. “Excuse me, I suppose I really should talk to Father Petrus. I will go.”

“Good luck,” Ramilda said reassuringly, looking her in the eye. Gabi smiled back at her.

***

“Oh, what a lovely guest,” father Petrus smiled politely. “Long may the Lord’s Light shine, my child.”

“Forever and ever, Reverend.”

“How should I address you?”

“Sister Gabi. And you must be Father Petrus?”

“Indeed, my child. Come, sit with me.”

“A pleasure to meet a stately man such as you,” Gabi replied, adding a hint of mischief to her smile.

“Come now, Gabi. I am merely a modest, inconspicuous man of the Gods. Please, do tell me your story! How did you end up here, so far from the lands of the living?”

“Truthfully, my story is a simple one, Father Petrus. And… not very pleasant, I’m afraid. I was sent here with a holy mission to find the Rite of Kindling. Father Lucian was my shepherd and our party’s leader. Alas, we suffered heavy losses, and then were utterly destroyed – over there, in the town across the aqueduct. As far as I’m aware… I am the only survivor.”

“What a tragedy. How long were you separated from your expedition?”

“About a week. I… can’t say for sure. I was all alone, hiding and roaming through the town. In the end, Dei gratia, I met these people. They helped me out, and I’m very grateful for that.”

“My condolences, Gabi. Tragic, tragic news. However… you should worry yourself no more, Sister. I understand that what happened to you might seem dark and grim, but please, rest easy. The mission thrust upon you is no longer yours – our expedition will carry this burden from now on,” he put his arm on her shoulder and smiled reassuringly. “Tell me one thing: what do you intend to do next?”

“Father Petrus, I think Lord Gwyn has blessed me with a different… equally important mission,” Gabi replied, choosing her words carefully. She knew what Petrus was really asking – he wanted to find out if she had any intent to return to the lands of the living. “The Guiding Thread has already led me to these people once. I prayed to the Lord, hoping to hear the answer, and it looks like my path is now inextricably linked with theirs. I don’t know yet where it’s going to lead me, but I feel like they need me very much, and I hope to find the answer one day.”

“You met them in unusual circumstances, didn’t you?” Petrus was not really asking, but stating the obvious.

“You are right, Father. I prayed for Gwyn’s guiding hand to show me the way, and it led me to them. I could hear the Lord… gently whispering to me. As if those were my own thoughts, and I myself came to the conclusion that helping these people is my lot and my way. But they couldn’t have occurred on their own. You know, I could feel… something divine lingering nearby. It’s hard to explain.”

“It certainly was a sign from above,” Petrus concurred as he seemingly relaxed. “You know, Gabi, I think, as much as they say how sinful it is to be undead, and what unenviable fate awaits all of the accursed, we both realize that a human heart changes little. That the outcasts among the Way of White, including you, do not stop doing Gods’ will because of that. Which is why I’m convinced that you, having embarked on this journey, will achieve many things, much to our common good. I truly believe this.”

“My thanks, Father Petrus. Your words mean a lot to me.”

Gabi tried speaking inconspicuously, as if she really did believe those things, but in reality, both parties were hardly sincere. They both knew it was a game, and all the words had a hidden message behind them, but Gabi tried hard not to offer Petrus any tells. She had no idea how well he was able to read her, but still tried to maintain a fleur of naivety and blind faith about herself. Even if the reverend had any second thoughts about her, she made it perfectly clear she was not going to return and make trouble for the Church – and for Father Petrus.

“Well, your path might diverge from the Church, but that doesn’t mean it goes astray from the Way of White. The power of faith is always stronger than bonds of any worldly formations,” the priest smiled. “We must stick together, even if circumstances may weaken these bonds, don’t you think?”

“You are exactly right, Reverend. I am glad to hear that you are so… benevolent towards me. If you would be willing to help me even a little bit… I would be most grateful to you.”

“To lend a helping hand is a virtue. Especially in this land. Tell me, do you think… something special lies in store for these people? Some extraordinary lot? Maybe your soul was able to perceive more than your eyes did?” he looked at her intently from underneath his brow.

“I… I don’t know, Father Petrus,” she felt like she made a misstep. “But I’m sure I will do good by helping them. Whether it makes a difference or not… Lord Gwyn gave me no answer. I…”

“Are you afraid to tell me something, Gabi? Do not worry. Anything we say here is strictly between the two of us. You can trust me, I promise.”

“I think that… they might play a bigger role in our lives than any of us can imagine. I want to believe… they are destined for something greater. They want to lift the Curse. But I might be mistaken, for I am but a humble servant of the Lord.”

“There might just be truth to your words. Everything happens for a reason. The Curse might be random, but it always seemed to me that some measure of providence plays its part in it. Maybe it was the same providence that brought you to them. Maybe _that_ is your true mission. You know, Gabi, I will not stay here for long, and we will part our ways. I am ready to help you right now, and I will ask for nothing in return. You need only ask, and I will show you some miracles to the best of my modest abilities.”

“Really, Father Petrus?”

“But of course! On the other hand, we might happen to help each other in the future, gods willing. Should we meet again, do tell me what hardships you face and what is happening to the people you were… led to by Gwyn’s divine grace. And I will be willing to lend you a helping hand in the future.”

“Truth be told, I’m at a loss for words, Father Petrus. Forgive me – for some reason I…” she tried to laugh nervously, “I was very afraid to look you in the eye. But I can see you are truly a devout man. I will gladly help you and tell of our exploits if I get the chance.”

“Well, I am merely trying to walk a path of a true believer. Do take good care of your companions, Gabi. Sometimes, the Curse works its way into the souls of men in treacherous ways, and it’s crucial to see bad things coming. If you see something disconcerting, please, tell me. And we will both do all we can to prevent the worst.”

Gabi could barely suppress the urge to smile. Petrus was recruiting a naïve girl as his personal spy. She bowed her head with reverence.

“I will, Father Petrus. I thank you again for your support – may Gwyn and Allfather Lloyd bless you. Do you mean you happen to have sacred scrolls on you?”

“Naturally. Well, I suppose, since we’re here, and your companions are resting, we shouldn’t lose any time…?”

***

To Ramilda, it looked like the conversation with Petrus didn’t much affect Gabi. When the knight asked if all was good, she simply shrugged and said she had no troubles with Father Petrus, and she had decided to stay with them anyway. “At least he got generous with miracles,” she added meaningfully.

Some time later, after Rami went to check on Anastacia, they were on their way back. Inside the aqueduct, Ryu used that same bundle of keys to open a grate near the stairs, and the party decided to at least take a look at where it led. Eventually, they saw another grate blocking the canal, and a passage to the right before it. In the light of two lanterns behind the bars, they glimpsed a seated silhouette. As they approached, they heard a slightly trembling voice of an old woman:

“Oooh, look at that! Finally, some guests! I was afraid they’ve all but forgotten ‘bout me.”

Ramilda and Ryu glanced at each other. The figure moved closer to the bars, and they finally saw her face – as hollow as their friendly merchant’s, uneven clumps of gray hair dangling down. The old woman filled her abode with baskets full of herbs, and the walls around her were overgrown with purple moss.

“Come, come, don’t be scared!” she beckoned them with a hand.

“What is your name, my lady?” Ramilda asked as she approached.

“My name… Oh well, it slipped my mind long ago! You must think my noggin is hollow, right? Well, it’s not!”

“Not at all, we didn’t assume anything like that. Do you… live here? You sell herbs?”

“I do, sweetheart, I do. Look how much moss I have! Wonderful place, innit? It’s wet, and moist, and it has these nice bars… Would you like to take a look?”

“If I may,” the knightess smiled. “Xendric, come over here! We got wares just for you.”

“Just don’t stick yer hands through the bars, will ya? I’ll let ya take a look at all you need. I can bite yer fingers off, ya know, heheheh!”

“Very intriguing,” the sorcerer said, looking at the baskets. “What do you have?”

“All kinds of stuff! Got some mugwort for yer stomach, got some sage, daisies, some purple moss if you get poisoned. All kinds of pestilence to go around these days. I got different resins, too. And some green blossom for warriors! I reckon it’s hard – dead hard – to run around in this armor of yors! Now, you just chew on those leaves or make ’em into a potion – you’re gonna fly around like a mornin’ lark all day! You warrior fellows need that, I know.”

“You happen to have any amber herbs, dear lady?”

“Of course! Here, take a look, dear,” she opened one of the baskets. “Everybody ‘round here knows the old herbalist.”

“If I may ask, what kind of visitors do you have?”

“Oh, all kinds of’ em. Folks from the Lower Burg come, indeed – those who’re still toilin’.”

“Did you ever see someone… remarkable? Someone who stands out or looks strange.”

“Remarkable…” the old woman started thinking. “Yeah, I saw one weird-lookin’ fellow – his clothes were kinda like yours. It was yellow though, all embroidered and stuff, and he had a big hat! Covered all his face with its brim!”

“That must’ve been Logan…”

“Yes, yes, that’s what his name was.”

“I see. Thank you, my lady. Did he tell you by any chance where he was going?”

“Oh no, these wizards are always so secretive!”

“That we are, can’t deny that,” Xendric sighed, spreading his arms.

“We had a good talk though. He was a nice fellow. Bought some herbs and off he went.”

“How long ago was it?”

“Well, if I remember right… nearly a month ago.”

“My thanks.”

“By the way! Have you seen a friend of mine by any chance? A merchant, like I am. He’s walkin’ around with a curved sword – just like your friend’s.”

“Yes, we’ve met recently. Helped him get back into the Lower Burg.”

“Tell me, is he alright? He hasn’t visited me in a while.”

“He’s alive and well – we escorted him. There was some disturbance in the Upper Burg.”

“Was he in any trouble?”

“In a way.”

“I see – old tramp got himself into some mess, as always. Tell him I said ‘Hi!’ next time you see him. Tell him the old crone is expecting him to come visit!”

“Will do!”

“Look at this,” Ryu said quietly to Ramilda. “She has some charcoal resin, gold pine resin… Those are good ingredients for magical weapon lubricants.”

“You mean the ones producing fire and lightning? They’re quite rare.”

“I know. We crush those into crystals, add some other ingredients, and I can make the lubricants out of it.”

“Yeah, if only we had enough souls to buy it. I’m afraid we don’t have as much.”

“Let me through,” Gabi said, stepping forward. “Hello, madam, divine peace be upon your home.”

“Thank you, darlin’! Want to buy somethin’? Your gray-haired friend sure looks like he wants some.”

“Yes, madam, we could use many of your wares. I’m an herbalist myself – I can see you are a true expert. Unfortunately, we’re not too rich – our path is an arduous one, and we cannot give much.”

“Nobody has it easy these days,” the old woman grumbled. “Ain’t no fun leaving here looking for all these herbs either, what with all the hollows runnin’ around.”

“That’s very true. Say, madam, maybe we could help you with something? I’m sure we will see each other in the future, and… I could bring something special for you. Something rare, if you wish – from a dangerous place. Some herb, for example.”

“You say you’re an herbalist, hmmm… You and your friends get around a lot, aren’t ya?”

“Yes. Sometimes, we have to go to rather dangerous places.”

“Right, let me tell ya this. I’m gonna sell what you want for less – you seem to be nice folks. But next time, you bring me some stalks of red dusk herb – I’m not walking where it grows. You find it and bring me several stalks and- aaand, if you catch a budding green blossom to boot, then we’ll get along just fine. You know what those herbs are?”

“Of course. Green blossom buds very rarely – and only for one day, and the dusk herb, I’m afraid, is going to wilt before I ever bring it back to you,” Gabi smiled. “But I will do my best.”

“Attagirl! You do know yer stuff! So be it, then, you’ll get a discount from me.”

“I’ll be glad to help you, madam.”

They ended up buying magic resins, amber herb, and green blossom leaves far cheaper than expected. As they said their goodbyes and parted with the merchant, Ramilda caught up with Gabi and spoke:

“I see you’re full of surprises.”

The cleric laughed merrily and shrugged.

“It’s nothing. Life taught me to negotiate with people, that’s all.”

“Did you have to negotiate often in the monastery?”

“That too, believe it or not. But I only wound up there when I was… ten – eleven years old, give or take. I lived on the street before that. Then again… I never became a nun in the end. I suppose it just wasn’t my thing.”

“Thank you,” Rami smiled. “You helped us a lot.”

***

“We’re gonna get up to the gate towers,” Cayla said as she opened the door before the fellowship. “Taurus sits on the part of the wall adjoining one of ’em, near the top, but we’ll exit the tower below, right beside the gate. So just don’t scream bloody murder, and it’s gonna be nice and clean, he’ll never know we passed through there.”

“You mentioned there was a ‘secret room’ underneath the bridge?” Ramilda said.

“Yeah, the bridge got two spans – one goes above the town, the other across the chasm. In the middle, there’s a room right inside the pillar – you can get inside by the stairs. From there, you got access to the underbelly, and that gets you to the other side.”

“Good to know,” the knight nodded. “We can take cover from the wyvern in there. Are those her hunting grounds?”

“You bet! You see the beast – you skedaddle,” the brigand laughed. “I think it flies off to the Drake Valley during the day. We might just be right on time. But the bitch is flyin’ high and sees very far – even if she’s off, ain’t no guarantee she won’t just _show up._”

Swann nodded. She remembered how she and Xendric talked with Cayla the night before, asking her and the guys to help them distract the wyvern in case it sees them. She agreed surprisingly easily – it looked like the fellowship truly had earned respect. She made a condition of her own, however:

“We got a problem of our own,” she told them back then. “There’s a dragon who was sitting in the town sewers for centuries. Yeah, a dragon – Dorian said this freak is a real one, but he is, uh… weird. We never disturbed him, but lately, something’s been going on in the Depths, and he turned rowdy. Makes too much noise. Dorian fears someone might wanna flush him out of his lair; he gets angry – he might crawl out and rip the entire town to shreds. Critters get spooked because of this, too, and they’re popping up outside – giant rats, hollows… Here’s the deal: we help you, but you owe us one. You come back alive – you help us deal with the dragon problem. That is, of course, if Dorian gives it a go in the first place.”

They shook on it. What was said that evening yet again reminded Ramilda just how many relics of the great past riddled this land – things unheard of in the whole world. She, however, was more concerned with their missing friend. Cayla and her men swept the upper levels of the sewers that day, but found nothing. The knightess simply accepted the fact that Mendes either went missing, or went hollow, and they had to press on without him. She caught herself thinking a seditious – and unwanted thought that she would rather fight by his side, than by Somerset’s. As much as she tried to dissuade herself, she couldn’t trust her sworn brother anymore. And this thought scared her.

She also noticed just how gloomy the knight was. After the conflict in the Lower Burg, he became detached, often shut down, and looked completely broken at times. She could only hope they won’t get any nasty surprises from Somerset in the upcoming battle.

They ascended within the tower and approached the exit to the bridge. Cayla sneaked ahead, scouting the surroundings, and gave them a sign – all was quiet. With a flash of sunlight, they went through the door and found themselves standing on the cobblestones underneath the vault of the big gate, two round towers siding it. It was past noon, the sun has already passed the zenith, casting long shadows across the town. Up here, it was cool, windy, and very quiet.

The bridge was right beside them; across it, they could see towers with conical spires and concentric walls of the fortress protecting the Parish. Behind them were the cathedral’s roof and the sought-for belfry. The most noticeable thing about the bridge was a dark layer of soot, with concentrated black spots here and there. The cobbles were littered with charred corpses – fruits of the wyvern’s fiery breath.

“Poor bastards got unlucky,” Cayla said, pointing her dagger that way. “Gotta give it to them – they burned trying to break through.”

“Yeah,” Ramilda bit her lip. “Good thing if they were hollow – at least they got out of the nightmare. It’s a shame to get smoked one step away from your goal.”

“Can’t simply bend the world, sister,” Cayla smiled. “You’re not nimble or crafty enough – that’s your own fault.”

“Or not strong enough to _make _the damn world bend,” Hubert grinned.

“No lady of the bridge in sight?” Ramilda asked, taking a look around. The question was a rhetorical one, it seemed.

“Looks like it’s quiet,” Ryu nodded.

“Shut the fu–” Cayla arrested. “Shut it, easterner! Nobody fucking says it out loud! It’s bad luck.”

“Every goddamn time,” Hubert chuckled.

“Enzo, stay here with Spider and keep watch. Zora, go up the tower and watch the sky. You see the wyvern – blow the horn and get down right away.”

“There’s someone on a platform,” Enzo said hoarsely, pointing to the opposite side of the gate.

“Let’s go take a look,” Cayla replied, heading in that direction. Ramilda nodded as she walked along.

Behind the gate, there was a sunlit balcony sided by two sets of stairs leading down – to a big platform overlooking the chasm. Far ahead, snow-covered mountain tops rose above the clouds. Numerous sunrays pierced the tattered veil of clouds above, contrasting against the gray in a captivating play of light and shadow. Cool wind blew into their faces, and for a moment, Ramilda froze, enchanted by the magnificent scenery.

She barely managed to ask herself how it was possible to access this gate from outside: she laid eyes on a figure on the platform. Standing by the lower parapet, his shoulders proudly squared, was a knight in a white surcoat, gazing upon the wide horizon. His most distinguishing piece of equipment was a great helm with a red feather on the side – an adornment not unlike Ramilda’s. He wore a full mail hauberk and mail leggings, green-dyed fur covering his shoulders like pauldrons. His left hand rested on a big round shield, and there was a sword in a scabbard attached to his belt.

Fascinated by the scenery, the knight was seemingly oblivious to their approach, but then he turned around and waved his hand. Painted on his surcoat was a yellow sun with a human face and red wavy rays – the same emblem adorned his convex shield. Ramilda knew no such crest, so whether the knight belonged to any order, she could not say. They froze on the steps, looking at the stranger.

“Any idea who this knight is?” Xendric asked quietly. “You recognize the emblem?”

“No clue,” Swann shook her head. “Never seen anything like it.”

“Well, shall we try our luck?”

“M-hm.”

She was the first to walk down the stairs and wave back at the knight.

“Greetings, stranger!”

“Ah, hello!” a young, pleasant voice responded. “You don’t look like hollows, far from it! Ho, finally! I almost lost hope to encounter a single friendly soul here.”

“Looks like you caught a lucky break. What is your name?”

The knight pressed a palm against his heart and bowed.

“I am Solaire of Astora, an adherent of the Lord of Sunlight. And you?”

“Ramilda Swann, knight of Astora,” she smiled.

“Xendric of Vinheim, at your service.”

“A pleasure! Oh gods, please forgive my manners!” the knight took off his helm and revealed his face. He was young, with short, bushy blonde hair, clean shaven – and had an irresistible smile. “What a wonderful company you’ve got here! A Vinheim sorcerer, two knights of Astora, my! A lucky break it is!”

He came closer and shook everyone’s hands.

“We are a colorful bunch, as you so aptly observed,” Rami nodded, shaking his hand. “Where does the journey take you, Solaire?”

“Good question,” the knight jerked his head. “The answer is quite simple: I became an undead and voluntarily journeyed to the Undead Asylum, which I’m sure you’re well familiar with. From there, I traveled to this famed land, the birthplace of Lord Gwyn, to seek my very own sun!” he spoke with nary a trace of pathos, but was still serious. Glimpsing the weird looks, he smiled and kept talking. “Do you find that strange? Well, you should! No need to hide your reactions, I get that look all the time!”

He laughed, and that pure, sincere laughter charmed Ramilda instantly.

“So, you made it out of the Asylum?” Xendric tilted his head. “No small feat, not by a long shot.”

“Oh, so I didn’t scare you off?”

“Not at all!” Ramilda couldn’t hold it and laughed back. “I can see you are no hollow too!”

Solaire laughed again and nodded.

“Aye, as you can see. I showed up with my armaments in tow – I couldn’t even sit in a cell properly! That demon warden was vicious – I barely escaped! But I completed my pilgrimage, at least. Pity there were no souls to rescue. And what are your objectives here?”

“We are trying to find the source of the Curse and lift it. First step would be ringing a bell on that belfry yonder. You surely heard of the prophecy.”

“Oh but of course! You know, I have a proposition for you, if you please, of course.”

“Certainly!” Xendric assured him.

“The way I see it, our fates appear to be intertwined; we have all been to the Asylum, we came here to discover our fate and try to fulfill the prophecy. I just had a thought: if not me, who then would try to seek the truth and lift the Curse? It’s a worthy, noble quest for a knight, don’t you think?”

“It’s a worthy quest for anyone,” Ramilda replied.

“True. So, I think it is no mere coincidence. If you would agree, I pledge to help you on your journey. We all travel the same path, so there is no point to go separately. Honestly, I was a little sad that I journeyed alone, and now – what a fortune! Let’s find out the truth together, what do you say?”

“It _is_ fortunate,” Rami nodded. “Sounds good: we could use another loyal sword.”

“That’s right,” Xendric concurred.

“I’m pleased to hear that!” Solaire looked down and chuckled. “You know, people usually consider me an oddball – heh, well, I _am_ an oddball. In short… if you agree, I am ready to pledge my sword right away.”

“I don’t mind that at all,” the sorcerer nodded.

“Me neither,” Ryu added. “I suppose you can handle yourself, seeing how you made it so far and didn’t go hollow.”

“No objections from me, fellow knight,” Somerset said.

“Do you belong to an order?” Ramilda asked. “Or is this your personal crest?”

“Oh, if you’re unfamiliar with the emblem on my chest, I will have you know that this is a crest of Sunlight Warriors, a symbol of our devotion to the Incandescent Father and to Lord Gwyn.”

“Well, welcome to the fellowship,” Ramilda pulled her glove off and shook his hand.

“My sincere thanks!”

“It must be that the Lord himself shed light on our paths so that they could converge,” Gabi spoke. She looked completely bewitched by Solaire.

“That he truly did, my friend!” the knight replied gladly. “I knew we would see eye to eye. Some people I’ve met here looked at me in such a way I thought they wanted to boil me in a stew!”

“I’m afraid the stew would’ve been dreadful,” Xendric laughed.

“Oh, absolutely!” Solaire nodded eagerly. “You have no idea how tough my bones and gristles are. Well then, so shall it be, and let us engage in jolly cooperation!”

Ramilda laughed.

“I suppose we should fill you in on our plans. We are going to cross the bridge. Have you seen the red wyvern?”

“Oh yes! I did make it past the Taurus demon, though not without struggle. We butted heads at dawn, gave each other a good pounding, and withdrew.”

“You challenged the Taurus all alone!?”

“I had no choice,” Solaire shrugged. “I’m not just any fighter, but I’m merely a lone knight. So, when we engaged in single combat, none of us could secure victory – I broke through to a tower by the gate, and he retreated into that one yonder. We roughed each other up pretty bad, so I’m very low on Estus.”

“Take some of mine,” Ramilda and Ryu said simultaneously and exchanged glances.

“That would be greatly appreciated. But please, don’t deprive yourselves too much.”

“Give us your flask.”

“Sir Solaire, aren’t you wounded now?” Gabi asked worriedly. “Are you alright?”

“I’m absolutely fine, don’t worry,” he showed his irresistible smile again. “But if I end up in a tight spot, I will know who to count on.”

“I’ll be glad to help.”

“Tell me, who is your leader?”

“We have no particular leader,” the samurai answered. “We decide everything collectively, but I was entrusted with battle command.”

“Alright,” the Sun knight nodded. “So, you are going against the wyvern?”

“We intend to _slip past_ the wyvern,” Xendric clarified.

“Makes sense. What is your plan?”

“We’re moving out right now, while the wyvern is off elsewhere. If it returns, our comrades over here promised to help distract it. In any case, we move fast to the middle of the bridge, jump into a hatch to the lower section, and run across it to the other side.”

“Uh-huh, I see. Understood. I should inform you: I am privileged to be a miracle caster. I know next to nothing about healing miracles, but I was trained to hurl lightnings, which any draconid is vulnerable to. So you can count on me in this regard.”

“Noted,” Katsumoto nodded. “If the wyvern appears, you will provide cover.”

“Most definitely. So, shall we?”

“Yes, let’s move out.”

One last time, Solaire looked back at the shrouded sun and the mountains in the distance. He then made a weird gesture, stretching his arms up and sideways, put his helm on, and followed the rest, walking past Ramilda. The knightess watched him for a brief moment. Solaire did seem like an oddball, but he left an entirely positive impression. She was usually wary of the likes of him; too often, behind the lofty words, there was only superficial heroism and false chivalry. But the Sunlight warrior didn’t come off as vain liar. Even more than that – it looked like self-mockery was not alien to him. Ramilda heard no falseness in his words – she could only hope he was equally good in combat.

Swann paused, looking at the magnificent skyline. She wanted to take it in before the battle – to pass this rare instant of pristine beauty through her soul, so that it left an imprint on her memory. So that she had the strength to win and return from the brink of death. Moments like this one were worth living for.

As they approached Cayla, she pointed at the far end of the bridge and spoke:

“Look, a couple of hollow soldiers. Baldrians, I think.”

“I see. No sight of the wyvern yet?”

“No. She’s gonna ambush us, I can feel it.”

“Well, here goes nothing,” Ramilda shook her head and unsheathed her sword.

“Ready, sister?”

“Let’s go.”

“Enzo, provide cover from here. Hubert, Adam, on me.”

They spread out and ran across the bridge. Soon, two hollow crossbowmen took notice and raised their weapons – Katsumoto’s arrow found one, and Ramilda caught the bolt loosed by another. Before they even reached the middle of the bridge, they heard the sound of a horn from the tower, followed by Enzo’s bellowing:

“Wyve-e-e-ern!”

“Take cover!” Cayla yelled. “Run for the hatch, now!”

The party made a run for it. A resounding roar came from behind, and a red wyvern emerged from behind the towers, flapping its mighty wings. Like a colossal shadow, it soared above the towers, and all who reached the hatch ran down the stairs. Ramilda stopped, realizing Gabi won’t make it, but then Hubert simply snatched the cleric, flung her across the shoulder like a feather, darted to the passage and jumped inside. The wyvern swooped towards the bridge, opening its teeth-brimming maw, and unleashed the flames. Ramilda dove right after Hubert and rolled down the stairs, feeling the heat of the draconic fire.

The flames stormed across the bridge, sweeping away the hollows. But all the party saw was flurries of fire and flouncing sparks. They wound up in a small room within a bridge pier. It looked like everyone made it. As Ramilda stood up, she looked at Ryu and rattled off:

“What’s the plan?”

“We go through the underbelly!” the samurai pointed at the door leading to the lower section. “Cayla, can you distract it from here?”

“Fucking shit,” Cayla cursed. “I knew she was hiding in ambush! Hubert, upstairs – we roll out the rags and wave them like there’s no tomorrow! Adam, fire your blue arrows at her when she goes for us! Let’s go, let’s go!”

Hubert took two long pieces of red cloth off his shoulder, and Cayla grabbed one of them. They prepared them yesterday – the brigands hoped that bright colors and loud noises could distract the wyvern. Nobody knew if that would work, but the red rags were their best option. As she ran upstairs, Cayla stopped to wave her hand at the others and shouted:

“Get your asses moving! Good luck!”

They wasted no time, and Ramilda ran after her comrades. Last thing she heard was Hubert yelling insults at the winged monstrosity. The wyvern turned, taking the bait, and swept the bridge with roaring fire again – the party had barely reached the middle of the second span. Ahead of them, at the edge of the cliff, they could see the base of a tower and an open door leading to the bridge’s underbelly – a sally port for defenders. They almost made it when the worst happened: the red wyvern noticed them, swooped down, and was now flying along the bridge, preparing to torch the entire fellowship.

Somerset was the first to make it to the door, Ryu helped Gabi and ran inside next, raising his bow. Suddenly, Xendric stumbled and tripped in front of Ramilda, almost falling to his death. At the last moment, Swann grabbed him by the mantle.

“Hold on!”

She pulled the mage up, realizing they were about to get burned, and darted to the side, hoping to find cover behind a pier. At this instant, Solaire, who was covering the rear, turned towards the wyvern; a brilliant yellow lightning bolt was sparkling in his hand. He swung his arm and heaved the lightning spear, hitting the wyvern on the head. The monster screeched, flapping its wings in panic, and veered off; it did not expect to be stricken by the ancient weapon of Gwyn and his knights. For a moment, Ramilda stood in awe. Still holding Xendric by the shoulder, she ran to the door, seizing the opportunity, and in a couple of seconds, they were safe. Solaire ran in and shut the door, leaving them in the darkness of the tower’s basement.

“You alright?” Ramilda asked, breathing heavily.

“Yeah,” the sorcerer exhaled. “Thank you… and you too, Solaire. That was amazing.”

“You were just incredible,” Gabi said. “I feared the worst.”

“You’re welcome, but it’s too early to sing me praises,” Solaire responded, panting. “There must still be soldiers upstairs.”

“Let’s wait until the wyvern settles down,” Ryu said. “Then we go upstairs. Is everyone fine?”

They all confirmed that. For some time, they waited inside, listening to the monster bellow above the bridge. Occasionally, they heard rumbling from above – it must’ve been the wyvern landing on the gate tower and taking off again. Several minutes later, the noise started to subside and soon vanished. A familiar faint roar came from afar, and all went quiet. Ryu and Solaire went upstairs to assess the situation and said that the wyvern must have flown away.

They went up the stairs and found themselves inside the castle, behind the outer walls, near a paved lane leading to the inner gate of the Parish. This whole courtyard was essentially one big barbican. As Ramilda walked outside, she swiveled her head; on their left, near the opened inner gate, two hollow crossbowmen already knelt, taking aim.

“On the left!” the knight yelled, covering herself with a shield.

Solaire’s lightning struck one of the marksmen, killing him on the spot. The second one shot past the shields, and Ramilda heard a distinct metal clang – she didn’t have to look back to know that the bolt glanced off Katsumoto’s helmet. She waited a couple of seconds to provide the samurai with a clear line of fire; a bodkin arrow pierced the crossbowman’s heart.

“Xendric, follow me!” Ryu pointed at the big round tower opposite them. “Rest of you – form at the gate, wait for my signal. Ramilda’s in command!”

“Aye, aye!” Rami fired back, falling into position by Solaire’s side. She knew what the samurai had in mind. “Lock the shields!”

Solaire nodded, Somerset fell in behind her. Gabi commenced the chanting, casting a miracle, and Ramilda recalled the verses she heard before: they were akin to the Word of Healing – weaker, but stretched in time, mending light wounds and numbing the pain.

A hollow, sinister noise came from behind the gate: somebody hit the gong thrice, raising the alarm. There, in a long paved courtyard, the undead flittered about. Next came the sound of the samurai’s horn, Ramilda inhaled and gave an abrupt command:

“Forward!”

Keeping their formation, they ran up the wide, slightly winding stairs and passed through the gate. It was a long intermediary courtyard; on the opposite end, they saw another gate preceding the coveted cathedral. On their right – the second line of walls and towers, on the left – tall buildings along the outer line. In front of them was a long, wide set of stairs with a landing in the middle; right above it, hung an elevated walkway between two buildings with crossbowmen taking position. A group of hollow infantrymen bunched up downstairs, commanded by another officer – a very prominent one, judging by his armor and discolored feathers on his helmet. But it wasn’t them that drew the party’s attention.

A large boar charged down the stairs right at them. It was no demon – just a beast, but it was enormous, and clad in plate armor head to tail. As the boar was closing in, Rami glanced to the right and saw the potential cover – a colonnade supporting a part of the building adjacent to the wall. But they won’t manage to get to it in time.

“Scatter!” she yelled, ready to duck to the left.

***

A loud metallic clangor broke into the crypt.

Centuries-old dust flew up from the time-worn slabs.

Through the endless darkness, at the very edge of consciousness, a thought glimmered: “Alarm”.

The sound repeated twice, and a massive dark silhouette resting on a plinth in the far end of the crypt moved. As the old armor clattered, a sigh came from underneath a great helm. He had awakened.

The old warrior knew not how long his oblivion lasted. The somber hum of the gong, the long-forgotten gong of Balder, tore the ages-long silence apart and unleashed a stream of thoughts within his mind. A strange feeling of nothingness plagued him for several moments – his self-induced slumber had lasted for too long. The dream he departed to until a different time, when the world would change. Now, the gong was calling him to battle once again.

He knew perfectly well that it could not be. And yet, the reality was inexorable.

Who was possibly left of those who knew how to give the signal? Or was this another sick joke of the Curse that allowed his comrades to retain a smidgen of their former selves? Merely a smidgen – but so recognizable.

The gong of Balder fell forever silent. He knew that like nobody else. He was a witness of the great disaster. He followed his king and his sworn brothers to the last crusade. He marched through the wind and rain under the black banners with a white tree. He saw those banners fall, one after another. He saw the Purple Cloaks, his sworn brothers, succumb to the Curse – just as the soldiers, just as their king.

A long march through the rain and snow. Skirmishes in the Valleys and the Valley of Drakes. A city on the cliff, where the fateful decay began. The battle on the bridge and the fight for the gates. The assault on the cathedral – one last desperate push culminating in a complete fiasco, the last battle of King Rendal. The army fell victim to the Curse and turned upon itself – he saw it all with his own eyes, he sealed the king’s sarcophagus and retreated from the Parish with a handful of knights that remained.

But that was not the end. He remembered this giant from Berenike who had found them later – lost, defeated, on the brink of despair. He remembered another assault on the ill-fated cathedral and the sweet sound of a large bell, though the details of that battle eluded him hopelessly; after many a death, the Darksign took its toll. Finally, he remembered the high citadel – the last threshold on the way to Anor Londo. And the great defeat they suffered there.

One after another, the Purple Cloaks perished within its walls. That knight in black armor that led them perished as well – the citadel became their tomb. Back then, beyond the days and years that passed, he was the only one who lived. He carried who he could out of the citadel, granting them the final mercy. He brought them here, into this abandoned crypt, and laid them on the plinths with their weapons in hand – to rest in quiet, solemn dignity, until the world changes, and the mountains collapse into the sea.

And then he lay there, all alone, pondering on his duty – the last thing he had left. And he went into slumber – long, sound, and completely empty.

He was all alone. The last warrior of a dead land.

When…? How many days, months… years had passed?

By sheer force of will, he ripped himself from oblivion and collected his thoughts. He stood up, brushing the dust of ages off his armor, spread his shoulders and looked around. The bodies of his dead brothers still lay there, on the plinths. In the darkness of the crypt, with only so much light to go around, he could only see their shapes; time had long since transformed them into withered skeletons. How rusty their armor was! To his surprise, his own weapons and armor were mostly fine, though the flow of time had left its marks. It was very strange, but right now, the knight had different things on his mind.

He heard guttural noises from above – a sure tell of incoming hollows. Sounds of feet running and armor clattering. And then, all of a sudden, living voices. He knew beyond any doubt – they belonged to those who had not yet become an empty shell.

He raised his big flanged mace and looked at it in the dim light; the weapon was fine, though the bronze-clad hilt was covered with green patina. His enchanted tower shield, resistant to soul magic, was in good condition. The warrior slipped his arm through the straps, raised the shield and headed outside. Questions could wait. Duty called to him again, and he knew perfectly well what he had to do.

***

…Katsumoto’s arrow glanced off the boar’s armor, breaking in two. Ramilda ducked to the side – in vain; Somerset stayed, becoming the sole target for the boar. He tried to land a cut on his legs, using the length of his zweihänder and shifting to the right, but he wasn’t fast enough. The armored beast crashed into him, swinging its big tusks, and the knight plummeted onto the pavement. Moments later, the boar started trampling him. Crossbowmen shot at the others, but missed.

“Archer on the right!” Solaire shouted.

Swann barely managed to turn and block the arrow with her shield; the marksman shot through a lancet hole in a small turret. Behind the colonnade, there was a passage upstairs, which they could use to reach him, but right now, no one could do that. Somerset was in peril, and they had to help him right away. Hollows were fast approaching, and there was little time.

“Get to the columns!” came the samurai’s voice from the tower. “Take cover!”

“To the columns!” Ramilda echoed, moving to the right. “Solaire, help him!”

She tried to stab the boar in the eye, but failed. Turning his entire body, the beast headbutted her shield with such force that she fell, followed shortly by Solaire. As Gabi healed Somerset, he stood up with a struggle and brought his sword down on the boar. The beast hardly noticed as it kept attacking the knight, pushing him back and blocking the path to the colonnade for the others. Screeching loudly, the boar hit Ramilda just as she tried to stand up, and it was only another strike of Somerset’s that distracted him.

The retreat failed. Four hollows were closing in – two shield bearers with swords, a halberdier in the rear, and an officer armed with a longsword. Ramilda recognized him by two feathers on his helmet and a sash across his cuirass. Three more hollows trailed them – it was at this moment that the knightess noticed a completely different figure.

From the side aisle under the walkway, a giant of a man emerged, clad in full plate armor. In his left hand was a shield with the crest of Balder, in his right – an unusually big, elongated mace that he, in all likeliness, could only wield because of his enormous physique. A torn purple cape hung from his shoulders – a garment of Knights of Balder. Ramilda clenched her teeth as she crawled back from the thrashing boar; this giant could prove to be their toughest opponent, and if they can’t deal with the rest by the time he arrives, they will be finished.

As she stood up, something unexpected happened. As the tall knight looked over the battlefield, the three hollows in the rear suddenly stopped, turning towards him. After a brief moment, they ran towards the knight. He walked calmly down the stairs towards them. Ramilda sighed with relief as the mighty swing of his mace sent a hollow flying towards the wall. The giant swung in the opposite direction and crushed the skull of the second hollow. Rami was stunned. She had no idea who this warrior was, where he came from, and why he fought the hollows, but she had no time to think.

“Back to Somerset!” she yelled, locking shields with Solaire. “Stay together!”

They ceded several feet and clashed with the hollows. Ryu tried to pin one of them, but missed. Steel clang, shields rattled, and the hollows slowly pushed the knights back. The menacing halberd almost got them a couple of times, and Somerset couldn’t get to them, completely preoccupied with the boar.

One of the bolts from the walkway wounded Somerset in the leg, and the archer in the turret nailed Solaire – thankfully, the arrow got stuck in the mail rings. Rami lunged forward briefly, preventing the officer’s attack, and barely blocked the halberd’s thrust aimed for her face. Solaire covered her, and both sides kept exchanging blows as the arrows clang against their armor.

“We have to crack them open!” Ramilda fired off. “Kick the middle one!”

She distracted them with her attack, forcing the swordsman in the middle to raise his shield. Solaire exploited the opening straight away: blocking the halberd from above, he stepped forward and kicked the hollow in the chest, knocking him down and going on the defensive immediately. The halberdier hooked Ramilda’s shield and pulled forcefully – she had to stretch her arm and let go, preventing the fall. Grabbing her sword with both hands, she parried a thrust to her face and managed to retreat along with Solaire. Their push failed, but long-awaited help finally came as Xendric’s soul spear felled two hollows, including the halberdier.

Ramilda glanced to the side, assessing the situation. The mysterious knight in a purple cape had already finished off his assailants. He charged the boar from behind, hammering it on the spine with his mace. With a loud roar, the beast went berserk. It knocked Somerset off with a powerful strike and turned towards the Purple Cloak, tusks crashing into his shield. Two bolts aimed for the Baldrian’s back couldn’t pierce the plates. That same instant, an arrow hit Solaire in the shoulder; the knight grunted, and his white surcoat reddened with blood.

The toppled hollow stood up and was about to attack Solaire – Rami rushed in to help, but the officer intercepted her with a lightning-fast dash. Their blades crossed. They both went for half-swording, a suitable technique to fight a well-armored opponent, and kept fighting as they shifted to the right.

Arrows whizzed through the air again – it looked like Ryu and Xendric killed the marksmen on the walkway, while Somerset and the Purple Cloak fought the armored boar. The officer was good, damn good – his technique was almost immaculate, and Ramilda had a hard time dealing with his attacks and counters. With a feint thrust, the hollow stepped back, grabbing the hilt with both hands, and struck rapidly – Rami was too late to parry and just leaned backwards. A flash of pain tore through her cheek – the enemy got her with the very tip of his sword.

The officer immediately struck again, Ramilda twirled her sword in a downward parry and hit the enemy on the helmet with a brisk counterblow. It didn’t wound him, but staggered him for a second. Switching to half-sword again, she bound the enemy blade and nailed the officer in the hip.

As he retreated to the colonnade, another halberdier ran to his aid, pushing Ramilda back, and she broke contact. She glimpsed a lightning bolt hitting the boar in the side. With a painful scream, the rampaging beast pushed the Purple Knight away and charged Solaire. Ramilda saw the wounded officer reaching for Estus and rushed to help her new friend.

The boar was much faster; Solaire only managed to brace himself for the coming attack, blocking with his shield, and was tossed back by the fearsome clash, tumbling on the cobblestones. With a cry of terror, Gabi rushed towards him. The Purple Knight charged next and rammed his shield into the side of the boar, almost toppling him. Before Rami even got there, he rained deadly blows upon the head of the beast, caving in the plates. With a final strike, the boar went down, its armor rumbling.

Ramilda turned abruptly. The officer and the halberdier were close. Xendric and Ryu wounded the latter with their arrows, and Somerset charged him next, but there were still several seconds before the Purple Knight could come to their aid. Were she to retreat now, the officer would turn on Somerset.

She stood her ground and decided to play around the counterblow. The officer prepared for a lunge, and Rami pointed the sword down, ready to parry the thrust with an upward strike. The blades came into motion, and, in the briefest of moments, Ramilda saw the coming feint: her opponent interrupted the thrust, shifting the blade trajectory for a diagonal cut – right into her neck. In a critical split-second, she spun her sword as she stepped to the left, blocked the officer’s blade with a powerful crosswise cut, and her father’s sword bit into the enemy’s neck. His blade still bound, she pushed forth, felling the officer. Helping direct her sword with her left palm, she plunged it into his eye socket.

As Somerset delivered the final blow to the halberdier, she retracted her sword and looked back – the Purple Knight ran up to Rami, covering her from the archer in the turret. Gabi was by Solaire’s side, chanting the miracle of salvation. Swann glanced at the Purple Knight and nodded – they both rushed up the stairs, to the turret. Soon, the hollow archer was slain.

They made sure there were no enemies left upstairs and came down to the rest of the party. Now, Ramilda could take a closer look at the mysterious knight that came to their aid. His helmet was a great helm not unlike Solaire’s, but far more refined and ornate, with a bronze cross adorning the eye slits. His battered plate armor bore marks of numerous battles, just as his tower shield that was covered with a thin layer of metal. In the black field, a slightly worn crest of Balder was painted in white – a stylized tree with a lush crown. Ramilda, a heraldry aficionado that she was, recognized it immediately, though nobody wore this crest in the lands of the living in a hundred years. His flanged mace was larger than usual, made specifically to fit his hand and physique.

Katsumoto ran up to them, followed by breathless Xendric – running up and down the stairs was rough on the aging sorcerer. Gabi and Solaire approached them too.

“Are you feeling well, Sir Solaire?” the girl asked worriedly.

“Yes, thank you kindly – I dare say, you’ve pulled me from the brink of death, hahah.”

“When this beast crashed into you, for a moment, I thought… I thought…”

“Oh, absolutely not! How could that boar ever kill a Sunlight Warrior when he is helped by such a brave cleric? Hahaha, no way!”

Gabi nodded with a nervous smile. She pulled out a piece of clean cloth and touched Ramilda’s cheek, wiping the blood. Smiling slightly, Ramilda nodded with a silent “Thanks” and drank just a drop of the living flame. For a couple of seconds, she stared at the Purple Knight, struggling to find the words. He stared back in response.

“What is your name?” she finally asked.

“My name is Eckbert,” he rumbled through his great helm. He had a low, raspy voice. “Last knight of Balder. What brings you here?”

“We aim to ring the bell.”

“Well, just like many others… we are… trying to fulfill the prophecy,” Xendric wheezed, leaning on his staff.

Eckbert sighed heavily, still staring at them with a scrutinizing gaze. He didn’t respond.

“How is it that you’re not hollow?” Rami asked. “You bear the colors of Balder and a knight’s cape – are you really one of them? The Purple Cloaks?”

“Yes. I am a knight of Balder. I was one of the last… back in my day. The others perished before my eyes.”

“How long were you here?” Xendric inquired. The knight paused before answering.

“How much time has passed since King Rendal’s campaign?”

“One hundred years,” Ramilda replied, still baffled by the sight. It was too unbelievable.

“One hundred years…? Yes. I understand now.”

“Have you… retained your sanity all this time? How could you do this?”

“Our crusade ended in disaster. First the Knight-King, then Iron Tarkus and the rest of my brethren – all succumbed to the Curse. I abandoned my fruitless attempts to lift it. Seeing how I was already dead, I decided to liken myself to something _truly_ dead, and fell into lethargy. I cannot… explain it in detail. The sounds of battle woke me from my slumber.”

“Just how long did your lethargy last?” Xendric asked. “This entire century?”

“Almost. There was but a little pause between our two attempts to kill the Curse.”

“Curious. So, what are you going to do now?”

Eckbert looked at them in silence for several seconds, sizing them up.

“As far as I see, there are still those who continue trying to fulfill the prophecy. Those who made it here intact.”

“Indeed. Humankind hasn’t despaired.”

“I suppose I should observe your attempts. Maybe, one day, they will bear fruit.”

“What’s in it for you?” Ramilda asked. “You want to watch us win or die trying?”

“Well,” Xendric said with a drag. “I think sir knight wants to help, but he has a hard time to put it into words.”

“Such is my duty. Rust may eat away at my armor, and time – at my memory, but it cannot change who I am. Until now, only Iron Tarkus and his company – our company – managed to get close to the gates of the Golden City. I know not if you are strong enough to go down the same path.”

“You speak of Anor Londo, correct?”

The Purple Knight nodded.

“That Iron Tarkus – who was he?”

“He was the last of the company of knights that came from Berenike. Roughly ten years prior to our expedition. He was the mightiest and the most tenacious of all.”

“I see. Did you manage to… to ring both Bells of Awakening?”

“Yes. When the army of Balder was defeated, we were only a handful of knights who stayed behind. Tarkus found us – and led us to our goal again. By that time, he had already rung the lower bell, and together, we broke through to the upper one,” he pointed his mace towards the cathedral. “However, we failed to get past Sen’s Fortress and its sentinel.”

“Who is that sentinel? And what does Sen’s Fortress have to do with all this?”

She has already heard about that citadel from Xendric, who in turn was told by Dorian, but its connection to the Bells remained vague.

“It is the last citadel blocking the way to Anor Londo – it lies here, near the walls of the Parish. The bells, it seems… open the passage to it. And its sentinel is an ancient being – a warrior made of steel, high as a tower.”

“In other words, a golem?” Xendric asked.

“Yes. It guards the gates since time immemorial.”

“How many of you were there, in Tarkus’ company?”

“Ten knights. In the end, only two remained – me and him. And it was only I who reached the golem – and failed to vanquish him.”

“All right. Well, the more we know what lies ahead, the better.”

“It will be a great honor to fight side by side with a warrior like you,” Somerset interjected.

Ramilda looked to the side; upstairs, there was a gate leading to the cathedral, closed off by a portcullis. She turned to Eckbert again and asked:

“Tell us, can we open the gate from this side?”

“No,” the knight replied after a pause. “The lever is inside the gate tower, with no access from this side. We have to find another way. King Rendal… died storming this gate. He hollowed soon after.”

“I read that the Curse consumed your army almost completely – is it true? Was it the Curse that destroyed you?”

“It was. We kept suffering losses – many of us died for good, but just as many went hollow, turning on their friends.”

“Tell me, sir,” Xendric said. “Since we already met, could you please show us the way to the cathedral? I suppose you know how to get there.”

“Yes. But my memories are hazy. Some things… might have changed after all these years. But I am ready to guide you if you are committed to storming the cathedral.”

“Well, it’s more than we could ever ask for,” the sorcerer smiled.

“How can I address you, master…?”

“Xendric, at your service.”

“And you, madam?” he turned to the knightess.

“Ramilda Swann, knight of Astora.”

Others introduced themselves in turn.

Eckbert nodded, then glanced at the officer’s body lying nearby. He approached it and stood still for some time, gazing into the features of the deceased. Then, he picked up his sword and wiped the blood off its blade with a tattered rag. After that, he took off the scabbard girdle and sheathed the blade.

“Leofric,” he said. “He was an infantry captain. Covered our push for the belfry when the dead rose up and turned against us,” he approached Ramilda and handed her the scabbard. “Take it. You managed to best him – I observed your strike. Leofric was a highly skilled fencer. I think he would like his sword to pass on to someone worthy of it.”

For a moment, Ramilda froze, taken aback. She did not see it coming and simply stared at the gilded hilt at first, visibly confused. She blinked and sighed slowly, then looked the Baldrian in the eye and said:

“I’m sorry, Sir Eckbert, I am… not worthy. I cannot accept it.”

“No use in letting a good blade rust. Please, take it.”

She hesitated for a moment, conflicted. Swann didn’t perceive her victory over Leofric as anything remarkable. She realized he was a deadly opponent, but she was in no habit of giving herself too much credit – her upbringing and her very nature ran contrary to the idea. It felt good to be complimented, but she also felt somewhat embarrassed – she didn’t have the nerve to take the scabbard. In the end, she decided it would be impolite to decline. She looked at Eckbert and accepted the sword with a short nod.

“You have my thanks,” she said, hiding her eyes.

“We shouldn’t linger here,” Katsumoto said, taking a look around. “Better fight our way in than to be like sitting ducks. Let’s collect the souls and move out.”

“Before we go, I’m obliged to do something,” Eckbert said. He tucked his flanged mace behind his belt, hung his shield behind his back, and picked Leofric’s body up effortlessly. “Lady Ramilda, would you please accompany me?”

“You… wish to inter him?”

“Yes. Let him lie in state where I used to rest. I think it would be proper if you were present.”

Swann nodded.

“Were you close, Sir Eckbert?” Gabi asked, walking by. “Would you allow me to say a prayer for him?”

“He was my comrade before and during the crusade. And yes – a prayer would be appreciated.”

Ramilda kept watching her feet. As they all followed Eckbert down into the crypt, some sinking feeling emerged inside her – a feeling she couldn’t fully comprehend for now. She felt sorry for Eckbert and his long-hollowed friend, and the sorrow she tasted was familiar, if a bit muted. But there was something else – something that made her shiver as the Purple Knight laid Leofric onto the plinth. A deep horror she never felt before.

She noticed four skeletons in time-worn armor lying on plinths to their sides. Gabi was quietly reading a prayer for the dead, her fingers locked. The mighty knight removed his helmet, and Ramilda mirrored his motion. In the twilight, she could distinguish his hollowing features – and the unhealthy pale-green skin, almost clinging to his bones. His sharp face looked like it was etched in stone, with only thinning gray hair and a short goatee. Scars crisscrossed his brow and cheek, and his nose was broken in a couple of places – it was obvious he walked a warrior’s path from an early age. Maybe all his life.

“Rest in peace, Leofric,” the Purple Knight said. “Our army is gone, but the crusade continues.”

He looked at his dead comrades one final time, put on his great helm and walked out of the crypt.


	6. The Belfry

_At the Royal Court of Astora, yours truly had the privilege to observe the most extraordinary spectacle. We witnessed a mage blacksmith create an enchanted weapon using twinkling titanite. The esteemed reader must know, of course, of a rare ore with magical properties that is called titanite. A legend circulating in the North says that all pieces of titanite are mere shards of large titanite slabs that were broken and scattered across the world by a nameless blacksmith deity in times immemorial. In the lands of Noon, one can also encounter these motifs. The mineral this ore contains is imbued with potent primordial magic. By using titanite, a trained, skilled blacksmith can create armor and weapons of phenomenal might and durability. In some shards, the concentration of this dormant magic is so high it permeates every speck of titanite, making it radiate a soft blue glow, which is why it is called “twinkling titanite”. This phenomenon is so rare that not just any monarch can afford weapons coated by this mineral._

_Titanite in and of itself is not a metal; therefore, it is impossible to make weapons out of pure titanite. There is, however, a way to process titanite and enhance the metal with it – an ancient technique dating back to the time before Lordran. This, in turn, requires a special furnace and a magic ember – an equally mysterious substance that oozes sorcerous energy when heated. These embers come in different types with various properties. They are typically encased in small heat-resistant boxes with an open top._

_An exquisite longsword was the weapon of choice. In the dim light of the royal smithy, the mystical process unfolded before our eyes. First, the blacksmith heated the magic ember to the required temperature, and it started to glow in white. Such embers are called “divine” and are usually the property of the White Church. Then came the hardest part: heating the furnace even more, the smith held a piece of titanite with forceps above the ember. He had to sustain the temperature for a certain period, judging by the intensity of the glow, then slowly raise and sustain it repeatedly. Only through the right treatment could the titanite turn into a malleable substance._

_Then, assisted by his apprentice who held the blade on the anvil, the smith positioned the heated piece of titanite on the blade at an angle and started hammering it with precise, measured strikes. We watched, mesmerized, as the incredibly malleable titanite gradually thinned from hammering, eventually becoming nigh invisible. By doing that, the smith thoroughly embedded the treated titanite into the steel, letting the blade “rest” every so often, all the while keeping the titanite in due state. Through all this, he occasionally used true divine power – essentially simplified miracles used by the clerics of the Way of White, not unlike sorceries used by the smith mages of Vinheim._

_When the entire process was over, and the sword was reassembled, it looked virtually indistinguishable from its former self at first glance. Only then did we notice a faint blue glint on the blade. The weapon infused with divine powers allowed its wielder to de-animate the undead in one strike – the kind of undead raised from the grave by vile necromancers. Twinkling titanite in turn made it extremely durable – and allegedly more deadly._

_It is worth noting that there are other types of magic embers out there, such as enchanted blue embers of Vinheim that infuse the weapon with the power of souls. Or the plain magic embers used to unleash titanite’s potential without the additional properties. These days, however, they are far scarcer, as opposed to the glorious time of Lordran, now ruined by the Curse. Legends say that somewhere out there, the artifacts from the olden days still wait to be discovered – embers with powers forgotten by the rest of the world, capable of endowing weapons with even more incredible qualities._

_– Qazim al-Bukhari, “Journey to the Lands of Midnight”._

***

After some time, they stopped by the bonfire inside one of the inner wall towers. There were still hollows in the fortress, but Eckbert managed to guide the party past their flocks. Those with half-emptied flasks filled them while they could; bonfires without a Keeper didn’t burn for long and couldn’t give much. After they subsided, they could only be reignited after some time.

“The hollows are in the cathedral again,” Eckbert stated as he watched the church courtyard through the window. “Those were our soldiers, by the looks of it. There are even some knights. Back then, one hundred years ago, we cleared the cathedral with Tarkus, but the hollows must’ve wandered in again.”

“I’m not surprised,” Ryu replied. “Lots of them could flock to the church in a hundred years.”

Ramilda nodded, observing the hollows meander aimlessly. Like the cathedral and all buildings around it, the tower the party occupied stood on a massive stone foundation that dropped down at a steep angle, with forest canopy covering a dell underneath. One hollow in a tattered discolored cloak stood out amongst the others roaming in front of the main entrance. Once, his garment no doubt used to be purple, like Eckbert’s, but turned brownish-red after years of exposure in the sun.

“That one in a tattered cloak – was he one of your battle brothers?”

“Yes, that is definitely a knight.”

“How should we approach this, Ryu?”

“We go through the right side of the courtyard and enter through the transept,” the samurai pointed in that direction, tugging at his chin. “We should be wary of encirclement. Those hollows at the entrance – they might go after us inside the cathedral, but they also might go around the back. Let’s do it like this: Ramilda, Eckbert, and Somerset in the vanguard, Xendric and Gabi in the middle, me and Solaire in the rear. This way, we can support you with arrows and lightning spears – and cover the rear in case they flank us. Agreed?”

“Sounds good,” Ramilda nodded. “Do we try to push upstairs right away or play it by ear?”

“Let’s play it by ear. We should also stay close to narrow spaces – aisles, staircases, no standing around in the open. And no splitting. You got that, Somerset?”

“I hear you,” the knight responded.

“Good. Everyone good on Estus? Let’s move out. Prepare the resins in advance – I feel like we’re going to need them.”

***

Rammed by a tower shield, Ramilda staggered and fell down. Somerset covered her, engaging a knight of Berenike – a giant as tall as Eckbert, clad in black armor. His large mace clanged against Leighton’s zweihänder.

That battle proved to be a hard one. They broke into the cathedral and cut down the first wave of enemies, but two crossbowmen on the balcony above kept harassing them, and the attack from the rear tied up Ryu and Solaire. A lone hollow knight, a true master of rapier and buckler, pressed Eckbert so hard he couldn’t even assist Ramilda and Somerset in their fight against the Berenike knight. The giant in blued armor stood like a rock, brushing off their strikes, and was about to crack their battle line.

Rami rolled over, stood up and gasped as two bolts from the balcony plunged into Katsumoto’s back. The samurai staggered, and the halberdier he fought seized the opportunity; with a powerful thrust, he pierced Katsumoto’s chest, wrestled him down and finished the samurai with a thrust into the neck. Ramilda cursed loudly. Before she turned, she saw Solaire slay one of the three hollows in the rear.

She had to salvage the situation right now. Raising her shield as Xendric enchanted it, she rushed to help Somerset. Whistling loudly, a big soul arrow soared overhead towards the balcony, spiraling through the air. It exploded just as it reached the ceiling, showering the marksmen with blue shrapnel – they died on the spot.

The knight in black armor pushed Leighton aside and swung his mace – Rami took it straight on the shield. The glowing blue coating conjured by Xendric allowed her to block even the most powerful strikes with ease. She attempted a thrust into the opponent’s face, but he parried. It was useless to bash against the plate armor with a sword – she had to look for a good opening, and the opponent’s tower shield made it incredibly hard. His mace, on the other hand, could harm Ramilda regardless of where he landed the strike.

“Somerset, flank him!” Swann yelled.

She retreated as the knight rained blows on her, and Somerset tried to flank the giant, but the Berenike knight was too battle-hardened to allow himself to get boxed in and swerved in an amazing display of footwork. Out of the corner of her eye, Ramilda noticed movement on the balcony, and one glance was all it took to recognize the silhouette of a sorcerer, blue orb coalescing above his staff.

“Mage overhead!” she warned.

The soul arrow plunged into Eckbert, providing his opponent with an opportunity to attack, but she had no time to look. Steel rang behind her, which meant that Solaire was still standing, and they had to push the Berenike knight.

Xendric fired back at the mage, and the mage’s response was swift and fierce. Loud whistling filled the air, and a cluster arrow from the balcony exploded above their heads. Two fragments hit Rami in the back, and she screamed as the sharp, paralyzing pain shot through her body. The knightess fell on her knee.

Another shard hit Somerset, staggering him for a second, and the next moment, he suffered a terrible blow to his side. The giant put all his force into it, caving in Somerset’s cuirass, and Leighton fell on the floor, dropping his weapon. Luckily, Eckbert came to the rescue, ramming into the Berenike knight and pushing him back. Ramilda quickly reached for Estus. As the living flame flowed through her veins, stifling the pain, she managed to glance back and saw Gabi casting her healing miracle on the wounded Xendric. Solaire’s blade slashed the throat of yet another hollow. At this instant, she heard Eckbert bellow with full force:

“Dagobert!!!”

The Baldrian’s voice was full of wrath. Grabbing her sword, Rami turned her head swiftly; moving between old benches and columns, two knights in washed-out cloaks ran at Eckbert, armed with swords and long kite shields bearing the white tree crest. Their new companion already saw the threat and shifted to the left, completely preoccupied with his previous opponent. He must’ve recognized him – if not by the facial features, then by his sword technique.

“To me!” Rami shouted, wincing. “Stand together!”

As she rose to her feet, she kept glancing to the left, while the knight in black armor attacked. Somerset had just risen to his knees and opened his Estus flask – the giant went straight for him. With a yell, Ramilda charged forward to cut him off – the knight stopped her with a swing of his mace. She struck desperately, aiming for his head just to hold him off, but the thrust glanced off his helmet. The knight of Berenike took one more step and slammed his mace full force into Somerset’s helmet. He didn’t even manage to cover his head. Leighton wheeled to the side, collapsed, and only twitched once. As Ramilda retreated, she saw his body disintegrate.

“Solaire!” she called out. The blue coating on her shield dissipated.

Eckbert was the only thing standing between them and the three Purple Cloaks on the left. Solaire’s strike and a timely soul arrow from Xendric finished off the halberdier in their rear. The Sun Knight came running with a lightning spear in hand.

“Perish in the name of the Sun!” he yelled, heaving the lightning at the giant. This staggered him, allowing Rami to assess the situation. Eckbert hit his hollow battle brother on the shield, knocking him back, but the one he called Dagobert seized the moment, lunging with his rapier. With pinpoint precision, he stabbed Eckbert in the gap between the pauldron and the cuirass. He grunted through his teeth and counterattacked.

“I’ll tie him up, he’s too dangerous!” he shouted.

All of a sudden, another figure emerged from behind a column. It was a warrior wearing brass-yellow plate armor and armed with two sickle-shaped blades. Attacking one of the hollow knights from the side, the stranger struck swiftly. One of his blades stabbed the hollow in the cheek, bypassing his shield, and the second one pierced his throat. One more time, it looked like they received some unexpected help.

Solaire was already running towards the Berenike knight, sword in hand, pointing out his line of attack to Ramilda, and she nodded abruptly, seeing his intent. The giant shifted again, trying to hold them in line, when another cluster arrow showered them with blue shrapnel. This time, they mostly evaded it, but a couple of small arrows still hit, and the giant charged at Solaire. Xendric refused him the strike: raising his staff, he impaled the knight with a soul spear. Gabi came running bravely between them, shouting “Lux salutaris luceat!”, and the healing magic spun in a circle around her, helping her friends.

The girl retreated, and the knights clashed – the mage on the balcony seemingly shifted his fury on Eckbert. The giant knight truly had nerves of steel – struck by a lightning bolt and a soul spear, he still moved just as fast, as if he wasn’t wounded at all. Solaire, however, proved to be a more careful fighter than Somerset – he hasn’t taken a single hit.

At some point, the “Brass Knight” appeared. Ramilda caught a glimpse of his now bloodied swords; those were shotels – double-edged blades with a strong curve and a deadly tip. Flanking the giant, he stabbed him in the back of his thigh. The knight of Berenike grunted and swung wildly as his assailant parried – the strike was so powerful his shotel flew out of his hand. Retracting the other blade, the Brass Knight retreated. Shield facing forward, the giant stepped back, reaching for Estus.

“Knock him down!” Ramilda fired away, glancing at Solaire.

He reacted instantly. Together, they rammed the giant with their shields and pushed him off balance. He staggered back, and the Brass Knight tripped him with his leg. The black armor rumbled as he fell. Ramilda pulled out her dagger and went for his throat, but the felled opponent still had some fight left in him. He hit Rami with his tower shield, pushing her away for a moment. As Solaire tried to stab him, he started picking himself up and swung his mace at the Brass Knight – he parried masterfully with his shotel. That same instant, a misericorde glinted in his other hand, and in a swift motion, he pierced the giant’s neck. Choking on his own blood, the knight of Berenike fell motionless.

The Brass Knight looked at them and nodded abruptly. Ramilda and Solaire mirrored his gesture and returned into the fight; they still had to take care of Dagobert and the sorcerer upstairs. Xendric kept firing seeker arrows at him, bypassing the columns on the balcony, and the mage retreated in a hurry.

Rami watched as the two Baldrians locked in a duel exchanged swift blows. The hollow knight parried with his buckler, retreating before Eckbert’s push, and lunged with a deadly thrust, almost nailing the eye slit. Keeping his distance, he retreated, holding his rapier in a threatening position. He and Eckbert glared at each other intensely for a brief moment… and then he simply lowered his blade, relaxing both arms, and dropped the buckler.

Something impossible happened – something Ramilda couldn’t wrap her head around: the hollow knight opened himself up for a strike. He wasn’t feinting, wasn’t trying to lure his opponent in, he couldn’t possibly deliver a counterblow from this stance – there was no stance to begin with. He simply resigned. The dropped buckler alone spoke volumes. He lowered his head, almost asking for this to end. It was as if some part of his hollowed soul had awoken for a moment – either because he recognized a friend from days long gone, or because he wished for the nightmare to be finally over. Even in his last moments, he held on to his sword.

Rami froze in disbelief. Eckbert bided a couple of seconds and said:

“As you wish… Dagobert.”

He walked up to his battle brother and took a wide backswing. The hollow knight didn’t flinch, his rapier motionless. With full force, Eckbert struck, breaking his neck. Dagobert jerked and fell onto the cold stones of the cathedral like a bag of bones. His last breath escaped his lips.

Rami jerked her head, shaking off the astonishment. They still had enemies to kill.

“Are you wounded?” she asked.

“It’s just my leg,” Eckbert replied carelessly.

“Gabi, help him,” she started walking towards the stairs, watching the balcony. “Let’s go upstairs! Eckbert, we take point! Solaire, cover the rear!”

“Understood!” he replied, turning his head towards the Brass Knight. “Once more, you come to my rescue, Sir Lautrec!”

“Glad to see you too, Sunshine,” came a harsh, husky voice. “We’ll talk later.”

“Hey friend, you got anything aside from these swords?” Swann asked, looking back at the stranger.

“A couple of fire bombs!”

“Get them ready!”

Solaire swung his shield on his back, sheathed his sword, then picked up a halberd from the floor and followed the others. Without opposition, they quickly ascended the stairs and wound up on the balcony. In the apse above the altar, it formed a curve, with a doorway seen on the opposite end – the party headed there. They heard guttural rattles from the room behind the aisle; they couldn’t see the hollows for now, but it was clear there were a lot of them. When they came close, Eckbert stretched out his sword arm, as if blocking Ramilda’s way, and she nodded.

“Lure them out?”

“Yes.”

“Keep your positions!” she commanded.

“Master Xendric, allow me,” Solaire said. “Sir Lautrec will safeguard the rear well. I’m needed over there.”

The sorcerer nodded, and they switched places. Shield at the ready, Eckbert stepped through the doorway. A dozen hollows assailed him immediately. Clothed in tatters, they were armed with knives, axes, and broken swords. Their weapons were shrouded with a pale orange glow – an unknown sorcery on part of the devious mage. The first one fell with his skull crushed, and a flurry of blows banged on Eckbert’s shield. He kept retreating, one more hollow killed by his blow. A seeker arrow came from around a corner and splashed against his shield. Then, one of the hollows jumped on Eckbert and stabbed him in the armpit with an enchanted knife, piercing the mail underneath the plates. Eckbert punched the hollow on the jaw, felling him, and retreated from the aisle completely.

“Throw it!” Ramilda yelled, looking back at Lautrec.

She stabbed a charging hollow in the gut, and Solaire stopped another one with a thrust of a halberd. The Brass Knight ignited the bomb, wedged between Gabi and Solaire, and hurled it into the doorway. The bomb exploded, splashing the flaming liquid across the aisle, and the hollows caught on fire. Engulfed in flames, they lurched forward violently, but in a narrow space, they had no chance against three experienced fighters. Not once did the enchanted steel taste their blood.

In less than a minute, the entire mob lay on the floor. Eckbert simply threw several corpses off the balcony just so that they could pass through the aisle. Stepping over the bodies and avoiding the flames, they barged into the room. The sorcerer, with nothing less than a trident for a catalyst, immediately threw his hands up, stepping back, and shouted:

“Stop! Let’s have a talk!”

Ramilda stopped abruptly, ready to attack again any second. Now they could finally take a closer look at the sorcerer. His most conspicuous piece was an exotic closed helmet with a tiara, evidently taller than the top of his head. The faceplate formed an elaborate mask with a nose, a beard, and three pairs of eerie eyes, uncanny in their appearance. He wore a strange mix of garments and armor: a long blue robe embroidered with gold, complete with a skirt of metal plates and a layered festooned shoulder cape – all in the same blue color with golden hems. A huge necklace covered his chest, made of three ribbons adorned with gilded bracteates, each bearing the symbol of the all-seeing eye.

The sorcerer kept his hands raised and stared at the party expectantly through all six eyes of his helmet. Xendric placed his arm on his hip, raised his eyebrow, and spoke:

“So you are not hollow? How curious.”

“Just you look at that! A channeler wants to talk,” the Brass Knight chuckled. “Well, you decide what to do with him.”

“Why not, let’s talk,” Xendric said as he stood by Rami’s side. “We can at least try. Begin.”

The sorcerer with a trident nodded.

“Well then, I’ll get to the point. I was stationed here with a certain mission issued by my liege. My mission was to oversee the Parish and report everything to His Excellency. I… had no intent to fight you, but I decided to err on the safe side. Hollows pose no danger to me – I have the means to control them, but _you_ – you are a different matter. There is no shortage of marauding bands in Lordran, and they are not as inclined to parley. I have nothing against you personally. Just an unfortunate turn of events – such is my duty. I suppose we could… resolve the matter… without resorting to bloodshed – neither of us needs that. I tried to get rid of you and lost, but we are all sensible people. If you agree to let me go, I can share with you certain information that might prove helpful in the future.”

Ramilda had a hard enough time calming herself down. She knew perfectly well she couldn’t sabotage the talks, and that the sorcerer could prove useful, but she was still consumed with anger, because he had contributed to the death of two of her comrades. Yet again, she thanked Captain de Plancy; serving in his company taught her well to listen to all kinds of scumbags – and suppress the urge to kill them on the spot.

“What kind of information?” Xendric asked, tilting his head.

“There are many emissaries like me. We have a presence in all corners of Lordran – we observe watchfully, write it down, and draw conclusions. We are the eyes and ears of our liege, channeling his will. I know from my sources, for instance, that you have already turned up in the Lower Burg. I also know that you are trying to reach the Bells. In the Lower Burg, where you might have a vested interest, there is one more channeler watching the streets and the sewers. If you let me go, I will make sure he won’t _impede_ you if you ever encounter him. You might also propose a condition of your own, and I, for my part, will consider whether it makes sense in my circumstances and whether I have the capacity to provide what you ask for.”

“An interesting proposal. So, who _is_ your liege you spoke about?”

“We serve His Excellency Duke Seath the Niveous,” he emphasized the byname and paused. “I hope this answers your question.”

Ramilda almost laughed. Turns out, the six-eyed emissary served none other than the last ancient dragon – the legendary albino Seath who had once betrayed his kin and struck a bargain with Gwyn, telling him of the secret weakness of his race. In return, he was bestowed with a ducal title and a vast estate in Lordran after the Great War. He was also the legendary progenitor of sorcery and a founder of the first sorcery tradition – it was in his honor that the Vinheim Dragon School was named. It was hard not to notice how the sumptuous byname of “the Niveous” contrasted the offensive moniker of “the Scaleless” – a mockery of a name he was given by his own kin, for he was the only dragon born without scales. Ironically, it was this very moniker that stuck with him, unlike the official one. It looked like, amidst all the chaos, Duke Seath still stood strong in Lordran.

“Hm, how peculiar,” Xendric said. “You serve the white dragon?”

“Yes. Do you have an issue with that?” there was a hint of sneer in his voice.

“No. It’s just that your fealty is quite interesting. As a Dragon School alumnus, I find it especially fascinating, you see.”

“Absolutely. Well, I hope we’ve reached an agreement?”

Xendric looked at Ramilda, and they nodded at each other.

“How can we guarantee that, for instance, you won’t simply deceive us? Maybe, you could provide us with a… _memento_ that we can demonstrate to other channelers? A token of good faith of sorts.”

“Your demand for a token is fair enough. Well then, I can give you a signet ring – other channelers will recognize it. You won’t come to harm with it.”

“That would be quite satisfactory.”

“Good. Be advised though: I will report what happened to my master. Such is my duty, and it is absolutely useless to withhold information from His Excellency.”

“Why not. We understand.”

“Just bear in mind that the guarantee I provide to you will only be valid for a _certain time._ I cannot vouch for what would happen next, because it would depend on my master’s will. But for some time at least, you will have your immunity.”

He pulled a ring with a massive dark-blue signet off his finger, approached Xendric slowly and handed it to him. The signet depicted a golden eye. Xendric accepted the offering with a nod.

“I hope we can meet in more fortunate circumstances in the future,” he offered the channeler a modest smile.

“I’d like to think so. Now, am I free to go?”

“Yes, of course. Safe travels.”

Ramilda and Eckbert stepped aside. The channeler bowed respectfully.

“Well then. Have a nice day.”

He passed by slowly, carefully, and looked back at them as he reached the doorway. With a short bow, he left, quickening his pace. The Brass Knight attached his shotels to his belt, crossed his arms, and shook his head.

“So, you let him go for future prospects,” he laughed in an unpleasant manner. “Makes sense, I guess. Though I would gladly butcher the bastard.”

Now, all eyes converged on him. His face was concealed behind a concave figured faceplate riddled with ventilation holes. His helmet and spaulders were decorated with long, slightly curved plates. His cuirass stood out most of all, for it bore additional welded plates, masterfully shaped like arms tightly embracing the knight’s silhouette. For a person in full plate armor, the Brass Knight moved with great ease and dexterity – the armor was likely purposefully made for him, and the plates were likely not too heavy.

“Yes, please excuse us,” Ramilda nodded at their new acquaintance. “I suppose we should properly greet our unexpected, but most needed benefactor.”

“Heh, someone’s got manners, I see.”

“Forgive us, sir knight,” Xendric said with a bow. “You saw it yourself – we had no time. What is your name?”

The knight tilted his head backwards, unbuckling his chinstrap, and removed the helmet with a raspy sigh. He was likely middle-aged – his clean-shaven face looked relatively young, and his chin-length brown hair had a substantial amount of gray. He was smiling – it was natural and sinister at the same time. His sharp, chiseled features, his furrowed brow, and his intent, piercing gaze gave off an odd, stirring vibe, akin to some veiled malice. Ramilda, however, didn’t rule out the possibility that it was a false sensation; looks were often misleading, after all.

“Apparently, you have devoted yourself to the goddess, haven’t you?” Xendric said.

Rami glanced at the sorcerer – this didn’t ring any bells to her. The Brass Knight, for his part, took a long, intent look at Xendric.

“Well, well. Someone has recognized my armor,” he spread his shoulders and raised his chin slightly. “Yes. I am a knight of Fina. Lautrec of Carim, at your service.”

He pressed his fist against his heart and bowed shortly. Solaire stepped forward, and as Lautrec turned to him, he smiled his incomprehensible smile again, but this time, it seemed friendlier.

“Well, Sunshine, I can see you’ve gotten yourself some company?”

“You said it, Sir Lautrec. Very pleased to see you here!”

“Thanks for that one time on the road again. You helped me out of quite a pinch,” he rummaged through his belt pouch and pulled out a round gilded medallion with a Sunlight Warriors emblem, demonstrating it to Solaire. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“Why, you! Don’t say that. It was you who helped me out,” he turned to the others, gesturing at Lautrec. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it right away, my friends, but we happen to know each other. We met by chance on our way to Lordran and got into a bit of a fix. Together. But we helped each other out of a bind.”

“What a charming reunion,” Xendric remarked sarcastically.

“Yeah, yeah, been there, done that,” Lautrec nodded, putting the medallion back. “So, what in the world brings _you_ here?”

“Same thing as everyone, I suppose.”

“The Curse,” Ramilda said.

“Ahh, I see. Chasing the prophecy,” he looked at Solaire sideways. “Well, a worthy enough goal.”

“I suppose that’s not why you are here, is it?” Xendric asked.

Lautrec shook his head.

“I have my own interest here. Unrelated to the prophecy, luckily, but related to the Curse, heheh. I suggest we get down and have a look at this place, before we go for the belfry. There’s a nasty surprise waiting for us up there, so it’s a good idea to rest and check on your ‘rested’ friends. You did find a bonfire, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, in a tower nearby,” Ramilda nodded. “Just let me ask: why did you say _we_ would go for the belfry? Didn’t you mention you were not here for the prophecy?”

“I did. I see no reason why I couldn’t help you. By the way,” he rummaged through his pouch again, and this time, he pulled out a bottle of crimson water, which he handed to Xendric. “Take this. You might need it.”

“Thank you,” the mage nodded, slightly perplexed. “A very generous gift.”

“It’s nothing,” he waved his hand.

“What kind of nasty surprise were you talking about?” Ramilda asked as they walked to the stairs.

“I would like to know the answer myself,” Eckbert spoke. “Unfortunately, the details of my first fight for the belfry elude me. Some… creatures were guarding the bell. I don’t know if they have reemerged or not.”

Lautrec laughed stiffly.

“Rumor has it, the belfry is guarded by gargoyles. No idea how many, no idea how they look and what they are capable of, but I do know many had cut their teeth on them in the past. Interesting company you got here. A sorcerer, a cleric, a knight of Astora, one must be from Balder… How old are you, sir? For a Baldrian, you’re holding up pretty well.”

“If you are so interested, I assume I must be around one hundred and forty.”

“Not bad. Anyone in your shoes would’ve gone mad.”

“I’m hanging in there, as you can see. Lady Ramilda,” Eckbert turned his head. “Once we are finished with the gargoyles, would you help me… clean the mess in the cathedral? I don’t want their bodies to just lie around like that.”

Swann nodded, sensing a lump in her throat.

“Of course, Sir Eckbert. Of course.”

Downstairs, they approached the altar in the apse. It was flanked by tall, curved candleholders resembling tree branches with birds on them. Behind the altar, in a large ornamented alcove, stood a statue of a young woman in loose robes, tiara in her flowing hair. A baby she held in her arms clutched the hilt of a sword. There was a faint smile on the woman’s face, and pure tenderness in her eyes as she looked at the child. On both sides of the alcove were fine reliefs depicting men, lions, and goats, all gazing at the goddess with reverence. Kneeling before her amidst the wheat, they were offering gifts, and the ever-radiant sun bestowed its light upon them. The altar itself was also decorated with floral ornament.

Below the altar, cut into the wide steps, stood a big plinth. A shriveled, mummified body dressed in decayed rags lay upon it in a fetal pose. It was likely a woman. In her palms, a large soul orb was glowing – it was so unusual Ramilda couldn’t even recognize it at first. It looked like a tangled ball of yarn, with strange squirming prominence extending in all directions. There was some sort of faint darkness showing through the orb. For a moment, everyone stood in bemusement.

“A Fire Keepr’s soul,” Lautrec enunciated.

“Hilde,” Eckbert said. “Her name was Hilde. She stayed with us during the crusade and met her end in this cathedral,” He glanced at the large dead knight in black armor. “Guntram is also here. Yes, it is him. One of the Berenike Knights that joined us. To think that he kept vigil over her body even after he hollowed… He grew… attached to her, while he still lived, and her death broke him. Looks like… even the Curse is powerless to change some things.”

“Unbelievable,” Xendric said, clearly astounded. Ramilda simply couldn’t find the words. She felt a wave of chilling cold as her mind painted the images of the past, forever fallen into oblivion.

“Yes, it is a Fire Keeper’s soul indeed,” she said, looking at the strange orb. “I was told about them – out there, beyond Lordran,” she looked up at the sorcerer. “Xendric.”

“Yes?”

“We can transform this soul into an Estus flask. If we know how.”

“Hm… interesting…”

“We should bring it to Anastacia.”

Lautrec looked intently at the twisted soul and bit his lip.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Well, in case you need to know, it is this soul that I was after. But,” the knight jerked his chin, “you came here first. So I suppose you have the right to take it.”

“Why do you require it?”

“_That,_ noble one, is my own concern.”

“Well, in any case, your offer is most kind.”

“Here’s what I can propose: I will yield this soul to you. As far as I can see, you have no flask of your own, sorcerer. Which is quite a commodity for us, the undead.”

“That’s right.”

“Which is why I’m willing to yield the thing. In return, I would ask you to help me obtain another Keeper’s soul for myself. I know there should be one down there, in Blighttown. Not sure where exactly, but I do know that Blighttown used to have a major bonfire, not unlike one in the Firelink. Their dead Keeper should be somewhere near. I can feel that somehow you will end up going there, so I could really use your help.”

“A sound idea, if you ask me,” Xendric nodded. “If there are no objections, I would concur.”

“I will be ready to help you, Sir Lautrec,” Solaire said. “I have no idea why you would need a Keeper’s soul… but I won’t press the matter.”

“How do you know that Blighttown’s Keeper is also dead?” Ramilda asked, squinting slightly.

“I just do,” Lautrec glanced back at her. “Blighttown is far more vicious and dangerous than this place. When its citizens went crazy, you think there was anyone who cared for her precious life? No, her body is rotting out there somewhere, just as the soul.”

“In that case, we will help when the time comes. But first, we have to ask two of our friends.”

“Of course,” Lautrec nodded. “Shall we?”

***

The waning fire still flickered, giving what little warmth it had left to Ryu and Somerset. When Rami saw them sitting at the bonfire, she touched the hilt of her sword cautiously.

“Ryu?” she called out. “Are you alright?”

The samurai turned his head. The skin on his face turned pale and sickly.

“I am. Haven’t been dead in a long time.”

With a sigh of relief, she let go of the hilt and walked to the bonfire.

“Somerset?”

“I’m fine, sister. At least not… worse off than before.”

“What’s the situation?” Ryu asked.

“We cleared the cathedral. And also met an unexpected friend,” she gestured at the Brass Knight. “Sir Lautrec, knight of Fina. He promised to help us with our attack on the belfry, so we came to check on you first.”

Katsumoto stood up and bowed to Lautrec, and the knight mirrored the gesture, his fist at his heart. The samurai then looked over his companions; it seemed like he was about to say something serious, but his stoic, impassive face betrayed no emotion.

“I am sorry,” there was a substantial load in his words. “I let you down. I hope it won’t happen again.”

He bowed his head and kept it lowered for a moment.

“Accidents happen,” Xendric said. “We will all try to exert caution.”

“Yes,” Rami agreed. “We’re at fault too – we couldn’t get those crossbowmen in time or cover you. Mistakes do happen – let’s try not to repeat them.”

“Excellent,” Ryu nodded. “What about our Estus?”

“We’re almost full, thanks to Gabi. Should be enough for the gargoyles.”

“Gargoyles? The guardians of the bell you mean?”

“Yeah. I think it’s high time we tell you everything. Should we rest here or move to the cathedral?”

“Let’s move – we shouldn’t leave it unattended. Somerset, you good enough to walk?”

“Yes,” the knight stood up with a grunt, warming up. “I made a mistake too, and I’m ready to amend it.”

“Good.”

“There is another matter,” Ramilda nodded at Lautrec. “You see, we found a soul of a dead Fire Keeper in the cathedral. We can transform it into an Estus Flask for Xendric if Anastacia helps us. Coincidentally, Sir Lautrec also came to claim this soul, but he agreed to yield it. He says there is another one in Blighttown, and he could use our help to find it. In turn, he promised to help us with the gargoyles.”

“He proved quite useful, too,” Xendric demonstrated a small bottle of crimson water. “Especially in battle.”

“In short, we think we could help him out in the future, provided of course that the Fire Keeper in Blighttown had also perished. What do you say?”

“If you trust him…” Somerset uttered. “Well, since this knight helped us, I will trust you on this.”

Lautrec chuckled.

“Don’t regret that,” he sneered.

“What makes you say this?” the Astoran frowned. “And while we’re at it, why do you even need a Fire Keeper’s soul?”

“You don’t want to know, boy. For your own sake.”

He stared Leighton in the eye, and Somerset didn’t respond.

“No objections from me,” Katsumoto said, crossing his arms.

“Fantastic,” Lautrec stated. “As far as I see, most of you are sworn knights. If you agree, I suggest we swear an oath – I assist you here, and you help me later. I may serve an obscure goddess, but I am a knight nonetheless. And don’t think I mistrust you,” he smiled his eerie smile again. “Such is my creed, is all.”

The companions exchanged glances and nods. Lautrec raised one of his shotels and spoke slowly:

“I, Lautrec of Carim, swear to help you fight the bell gargoyles until my last breath, and repel any other threat in this parish until we part our ways.”

Eckbert was the next to raise his weapon.

“I, Eckbert of Balder, swear to help you obtain the soul of the Blighttown’s Fire Keeper, if she had already perished.”

Ramilda, Solaire, and Somerset repeated these same words. Katsumoto nodded in turn:

“I shouldn’t meddle in a foreign ritual, but I promise I will help you. A samurai’s word is true without need for oaths.”

“As is mine,” Xendric smiled with a bow. “In the end, we all made that promise.”

“Well, if we’re finished, I suggest we move,” Lautrec said.

“One more thing, if you please” the sorcerer halted. “You must remember the mage that shot at us from the balcony. Turns out, he was an emissary of Duke Seath.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Ryu nodded. “What happened?”

“He requested peace and offered a bargain,” Xendric demonstrated the ring he received from the channeler. “We let him go, and he gave us this little ring here. If we show it to other emissaries, they won’t touch us – at least for now. The way he put it, he will take care of this, the ring is more of a guarantee.”

“And you simply let him go?” Somerset asked. “That bastard who tried to kill us?”

“And what would you have us do?” Xendric tilted his head sarcastically. “Rip him to shreds and risk even greater calamities?”

“He is a servant of an ancient dragon, Somerset,” Ramilda interjected. “He had his own mission, we were in the wrong place at the wrong time. We shouldn’t anger Seath without good reason.”

“If it wasn’t for him, Ryu might not have died,” Somerset retorted angrily.

“And if it wasn’t for a bunch of hollows, too,” Ramilda parried.

“You shouldn’t have let him go!”

Xendric sighed and rolled his eyes, visibly annoyed.

“While I highly appreciate your most valuable opinion, young man, but if you were to think _ahead_ for a moment, you would see that, firstly, our friend Ryu is far from hollow, and secondly, that bargain will come in handy yet. If you want to survive, of course.”

“I don’t believe his guarantees. What use is that ring?”

“We’re going to see,” Xendric insisted.

“It all depends on what the dragon decides,” Eckbert observed.

“Damn it,” Somerset jerked his head. “You could have at least taken his staff!”

“Taking a magician’s catalyst is extremely bad manners,” the sorcerer countered.

“Letting a killer go is foolish and dishonorable.”

“Enough!” Katsumoto barked. “Too late to dwell on it now.”

Somerset looked at his sworn sister, and she shook her head, a stern forbidding expression on her face. Lautrec crossed his arms with a chuckle.

“Lovely. Are you finished?”

“Yes,” Katsumoto nodded. “Let’s go.”

They left the tower hastily and returned to the cathedral. For some time, they simply sat on the old benches in the main hall, tending to their weapons. Ramilda kept glancing at Leofric’s sword, still thinking hard what to do with it. It wouldn’t be right to just let the old blade rust – not with all the soul poured into it. Meanwhile, she was also listening to the conversation Lautrec had with Somerset. The former had asked her sworn brother what he was looking for in this wretched land, and Somerset gave him the same old answer on “curing the Curse”. When he told Lautrec he was ready to sacrifice his life for this, the Brass Knight laughed.

“I see how it is. Everybody wants to find the magical panacea. So what, are you going to save the world by dying in an impossible fight? I’m curious how that could help you find the cure.”

“I have long forsworn saving myself. I am ready for this sacrifice if it will bring people salvation.”

“Liar,” Lautrec chuckled. “Everybody wants to save themselves. Or is it unbecoming of a noble knight?”

“You say strange things. Isn’t the knight’s purpose to face death to save others?”

“Perhaps. But we all have our personal interests in mind, even you. Some of us are just ready to take it a step further. Or would you say you love the world more than yourself?”

“Frankly speaking, you do not at all resemble a man whose heart is filled with love, Lautrec. You probably won’t understand.”

“Why? Is it my countenance?” Lautrec grinned. “I’m flattered. So, are you saying that you only want to find the cure, and nothing else?”

“Yes. Like I said, you won’t understand.”

Lautrec waved him off with a sneer. He slowly approached Ramilda, locking eyes with her.

“And what about you? Don’t tell me your _personal_ goal is to save the world.”

Ramilda looked back at him, considering her answer.

“What’s wrong with that? I am no hero, and I would be a foolish hypocrite if I said I didn’t want to save _myself,_ too. But I will not rest until the Curse is gone. Until I uncover the truth of it all.”

Lautrec smiled.

“Well, at least it’s not your typical “heroic” response. Even though you all speak in the same manner,” he sat down at her side and looked her in the eye. “Me? I’ll be honest: I don’t give a damn about the rest of the world. I think the Curse can’t be lifted. We have to live with it – you, me, everyone, no matter what we hope for.”

“You’re not the first to say such things. Many people here say the prophecy is a fairytale.”

“Fairytale or not, ringing some bells won’t lift the Curse, I’m sure of this. But if there’s a speck of truth about the prophecy, one needs to see it through to the end and find out.”

“Didn’t you just say it is useless?” Rami frowned.

“I did. What of it? Yes, I do think the Curse won’t ever leave, but that doesn’t make it true. Truth can only be discovered, not predetermined. And if your goal is to discover it, who am I to impose my opinion on you?”

He smiled meaningfully and shrugged. Swann nodded after a pause.

“You _are_ right. Does it mean you don’t want to know the truth?”

“I don’t _need _to,” Lautrec corrected. “I’d be curious, but it will hardly change anything for me. I have my own truth – that of my Goddess who aids and protects me. The rest is irrelevant. Besides… It’s usually those who strive to be saviors that give up first. You know why? Because they lie to themselves and think their sacrifice to be for a cause, for the greater good and other hogwash. And they rush to die in some dirty ditch in the name of saving the world without ever stopping to think if their mission is that holy to begin with. Time and time again, like moths drawn to the flame. And when their cause proves to be impossible, or worse yet – when they grow _disillusioned,_ that’s when the void settles in. Heheheh… Scary, is it not?”

“It is, I can’t deny that,” Rami nodded as she tried to keep a stoic countenance. “Especially when you see what has become of those who came before you. Somewhere, somehow, they made a misstep. But that is not the reason to capitulate.”

“It is not. I can respect courage.”

“What about you? What is your goal?”

“I serve the Goddess. Curse or not – it makes no difference to me. It won’t change my… _job._ And my heart’s bidding, so to say.”

“Does this calling give you purpose?”

“The Goddess responds in kind. Besides, it prevents me and my blades from getting rusty, heh heh. See this ring?” he showed her a brass ring with a diamond-shaped bezel decorated with floral engravings. “This is a symbol of her love. It’s by her grace that I can stay so agile in armor and even ignore wounds. And this favor is mine – and mine only. Try and take this ring away from me – and it will shatter. ‘Just a magical trick,’ some would say, right? Well, rings like this are bestowed for a reason. I went through the initiation, and Fina spoke to me, just like with every other knight. And as long as her favor is with me, I will not perish. That I know.”

“Why?”

“It was proven to me repeatedly, and that manner of proof is all I need.”

“Still, what is your goal? I understand that your allegiance to Fina defines your life, but like you said, there should be something personal in that.”

“It is always there. The wish to live, to become better, faster, stronger, to have a purpose and simply enjoy what fate throws your way. I live for the Goddess – therefore, I live for myself. That _is_ my goal, if you will. My purpose. The rest is defined by the moment. And you? You want to get your life back?”

Ramilda nodded.

“If I ever can…” she sighed. “Can’t know if there is a way back to how it was. I reckon, many people won’t ever be able to look at me the same way again, even if I lift the Curse. Can’t know the truth in advance, right?” the knightess smiled flatly. “But I do long to go back.”

“Yeah. Go back… Which means, you still live on hope?”

“Nothing else. That’s the only way.”

“_They_ lived on it, too,” Lautrec pointed at the dead hollows and looked her in the eye intently. “Here’s my advice. If something is still holding you in the past, leave it behind. It’s futile. You may strive to lift the Curse – hell, maybe you will even succeed. But when your hopes are dashed and shattered, life will stab you in the back. Your nostalgia, your regrets – they burden you. The more you live on them, the faster you break, and the best chance for you to win is to accept that you are _already dead._ That there will never be a way back. And when you come to terms with your lot, when you accept the fact that you can’t beat fate in the game of dice, _that’s_ when you will start acting as a true warrior. Without remorse, anxiety, and vain hopes. Because when you have nothing to lose, _that_ is when you can truly spit in the face of fate and smash its teeth. To win where others had failed.”

Ramilda said nothing. She didn’t break the eye contact, but she realized the grim look of her face was telling enough. She felt a familiar cold creeping across her back. Leaving all hope behind seemed strange to her – almost seditious. But as much as she didn’t want to admit it, there was a harsh truth behind those words. The deep horror she has already felt was getting close again. To abandon hope – the one thing she always relied on – was unthinkable.

“Sounds terrifying, I know,” Lautrec nodded. “I can see it in your eyes. But you know it’s true.”

“No,” Rami shook her head. “Not to me. Everybody harbors hopes. Aren’t you the one deceiving yourself when you say hope best be abandoned? Don’t you live on it in some form at least? Your Goddess’ favor, for instance – don’t you hope and believe that it will always be with you?”

“You are mistaken,” the knight smiled. “I need neither hope nor belief in my Goddess’ love; it is always _there, _plain and simple, and that is an objective fact that cannot be denied. It is my anchor. And for an anchor like this to work, everything else is to be cast aside. Hope included. That is what I’m talking about: find something immutable, even if that is a simple fact that you are undead. The pariah, the leper, the accursed one. You have nothing to lose, and the only way from the bottom is up. Accepting fate is not the same as giving up. The choice is yours. Think on it.”

“I will,” Rami said with a heavy sigh. “Thanks for the advice.”

“Don’t mention it,” Lautrec responded, his mouth twisted.

Swann looked away ponderously, fingers stroking her sword’s hilt. Lautrec’s words kept reverberating in her head, and she had yet to think hard on them – later. She looked at Solaire, standing before the altar, mesmerized by the statue behind it. The Sun Knight seemed completely preoccupied.

“When did you… meet Solaire?” she asked quietly.

“About a month ago, I think.”

She nodded and caught herself thinking that she probably shouldn’t keep going.

“You want to ask me something?” Lautrec smiled, turning his head towards her. “Ask away. I can see it.”

“Is he a good man?”

Lautrec chuckled, befuddled by the question. He then looked away, giving it a serious consideration. It was the first time Ramilda noticed his expression change in such a way, eyes peering into nowhere.

“Yeah,” he told her earnestly. “Maybe even too good of a man.”

Some time has passed, and Katsumoto assembled the party. It was time to ascend.

“Everyone ready?” the samurai asked, looking over his comrades.

“Yeah,” Rami replied. “Let’s finish this.”

“Perfect,” Lautrec sighed as he put on his helmet.

Ryu motioned for the fellowship to advance. Soon, they found themselves in a small room adjacent to the cathedral’s roof. As soon as they stepped outside, a fresh breeze hit their faces. The domed belfry towered above them on the other side. Far to their right, from behind the forest growing underneath the Parish, rose the familiar mountain in all its colossal grandeur. Up there, atop its crest, stood the walls of Anor Londo, veiled in a slight blue haze. A formidable fortress could be glimpsed from afar, standing in the mountain’s shadow.

They trod the dark tiles slowly, probing the surface. The low-angled roof was wide enough, diminishing the risk of tumbling down over the edge. Several plinths along the ledge were crested by worn gargoyle statues. If Lautrec was to be believed, any one of those statues could come alive at any moment.

“Which ones are they..?” Gabi muttered, fear in her voice.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” Ryu said. Then, he stopped abruptly, raising his hand. “Look! Up there – those ones have weapons.”

He was pointing at the belfry. On the parapet underneath the bell chamber, sitting in a crooked pose at the corners, were two winged sculptures. It was hard to tell the details apart from that distance, but Rami could clearly distinguish halberds in their hands.

“It’s them.”

Gabi commenced the chanting as she approached Solaire – the cleric always tried to bless him first. Then came the sound of stones grinding; the armed statues moved, turning their heads towards the intruders in unison. With a loud roar, one of the gargoyles spread its wings and leapt off the parapet, soaring through the air. It landed in the roof with a bang, sending shattered tiles flying in all directions. Its long tail topped with two massive axe-blades wiggled from side to side. The beast’s armor and weapons were all made of bronze and covered in a thick green layer of patina. A helmet with large antlers protected the head of the gargoyle, while its spine and shoulders were covered with plate armor. Once more, the gargoyle roared, and in that instant, a third stone guardian emerged from behind the bell tower, armed with a bronze spear. The two remaining beasts descended upon the fellowship, ready to destroy it. The battle was on.

“Three of you, take the left one!” Ryu barked, gesturing at Somerset, Solaire, and Lautrec, and then slapped Eckbert on the shoulder. “Pin the one in front! Rami, on me!”

Gabi touched the samurai’s shoulder, concluding the blessing chant. Rami followed him as he ran in an arc on the right flank, while Eckbert moved straight forward. The large beast lunged at him with a thrust, and the knight of Balder faced it head on, parrying the blow with his shield. Three knights on the left clashed with the second gargoyle, and Ramilda glimpsed Somerset staggering back from the strike of the bronze halberd.

As the samurai ran, he opened a bundle filled with charcoal resin. He swiped it forcefully along the blade, and the magical flame sprung to life, engulfing his katana. The third gargoyle rose before them. Its entire crooked silhouette lifted, it inhaled loudly, and the knightess realized what was about to follow. Rami had no idea _what_ the gargoyle was going to unleash, but the telling motion evoked the unmistakable image of a beast ready to breathe hellfire on its foe.

“Out of the way!” Ryu shouted – he must have realized, too.

“Get down!” Swann fired off in response.

She lunged to the side along with the samurai, and the gargoyle belched furious flames at them. Bracing for impact, Ramilda fell on the tiles, covering herself with her shield, and the fire went above her, blasting her with heat. Pushing away with her elbow, Rami sprang up, following Ryu in his attack.

Shifting to the right, the lightning-fast gargoyle thrust its spear at Ryu. With a swing of his sword, he parried, and the spear tip glanced off his breastplate. Together, they pounced at the beast, showering it with strikes, but couldn’t break through its defense. The gargoyle retreated and evaded their blows, parrying with its round bronze shield and counter-attacking at every opportunity. Occasionally, it dodged to the side, helping itself with its wings. A couple of times, they landed glancing blows, but the gargoyle’s flesh proved too tough for such strikes. At some point, it jumped up with a flap of its wings, turning sideways in mid-air, and swung its tail in a wide arc. Ryu and Ramilda ducked in unison, and the double-edged axe whooshed over their heads.

At that instant, a soul vortex started spiraling on the left. As Ramilda glanced quickly over her shoulder, she saw the first gargoyle fly over Eckbert’s head and pounce at Xendric from the air – the sorcerer barely evaded the strike. With its next move, the gargoyle pierced Gabi with a halberd spike, and Ramilda’s heart sank.

She turned towards the foe to parry its blow, and then she broke contact along with Ryu, both trying to catch their breath. With another glance, Rami saw Gabi fall over with a grievous wound in her side. Eckbert was already charging the gargoyle, his mace raised for a strike.

“We gotta help them!” she shouted, intercepting a thrust meant for Katsumoto.

“I’ll do it, distract the beast!”

The samurai ran off, the gargoyle’s spear followed him and glanced off Ramilda’s shield, sparks flying. Rami stepped forward and attacked, covering her comrade’s retreat, and landed a substantial cut on the monster’s leg. She narrowly evaded the strike of a patina-covered shield and stepped back. One arrow from the vortex finally got the beast, but it merely growled.

“On me, degenerate!” she yelled. “Come on, show me what you got!”

Parrying one thrust after another, she kept backing off, drawing the gargoyle away. It sucked the air in again, and Rami hurried to gain distance, getting away from the deadly flames.

She looked to the left to assess the situation. Xendric had just struck the first gargoyle with a soul spear, and Gabi was still alive, reaching for Estus. Ducking under a wide halberd swing, Ryu attacked the beast. At this instant, Eckbert, who went for a deep flank, charged and crashed right into the beast. So powerful was his charge that he pushed the gargoyle right to the edge of the expanding vortex. Two final blue arrows pierced the monster, and it roared in pain.

Eckbert swung his mace, and it could seem he would crack the beastly head open with that blow, but the gargoyle parried with a shield and struck back. Glancing off the shield, the spike found a chink between the cuirass and the pauldron, piercing Eckbert’s body.

Rami advanced to meet her foe. The gargoyle stalled for time, belching the flames again. Swann could not approach it, as well as assist her companions; she realized that as soon as she went for it, the guardian would exploit that and rain fire on all of them. She could only watch the first gargoyle whack Katsumoto with a halberd, knocking him prone. A soul arrow plunged into the monster’s head, staggering it for a moment, and it was then that Eckbert’s blow landed. The bronze helmet dented from the impact, and one of the antlers flew spinning into the air.

The flames subsided, and Ramilda rushed forward, binding the foe. She saw the first gargoyle fly up into the air, trying to get to their backline again, and the fighters rushed after the beast. The fire-breathing gargoyle struck preemptively with its spear and leapt into the air too. It headed in the same direction, about to incinerate all four.

“Take cover!” Ramilda screamed at the top of her lungs.

With a loud noise, the flaming burst rained down. Xendric leapt away by the skin of his teeth, but the rest vanished within the flame for a moment. When it dispersed, Ryu was rolling on the roof, badly burnt, and Gabi emerged unscathed – Eckbert covered her at the last moment. His purple cloak was set aflame. As the gargoyle landed, it plunged its spear into Katsumoto, and Gabi rushed towards him. Xendric grasped frantically for the crimson water, almost empty at this point.

Ramilda tarried no more. Shield swung across her shoulder, she ran forward, a bundle of gold pine resin in her grip – once more, she thanked Ryu for his resourcefulness. Unfurling the bundle with a single motion, she rubbed it forcefully against the blade, and with a sonorous hum, golden streaks of lightning started dancing around it.

With her shield in hand again, Rami attacked the damned gargoyle with a loud cry. She parried the spear and plunged the blade deep into the monster’s side. Lightning streaks scattered around the wound, piercing the flesh, and the beast shrieked. Ramilda returned the blade and rained blows on the foe, circling around and not allowing the gargoyle to gain any distance. She managed to cut its leg and damage it – the lightning resin was a godsend.

In the heat of the fight, Rami glimpsed Eckbert again. The knight tore off his flaming cloak, broke through to the first gargoyle, and shoved it right into the beast’s maw. A stunning shield bash followed by a quick motion – Eckbert wrapped the cloak around the gargoyle’s head.

As the knightess parried another clumsy strike, she swung back, but her blade only struck air – the gargoyle took off again. Next moment, the gargoyle’s tail smashed into her shield with incredible power.

The shield dampened the blow, but it hardly helped; air forced out of her lungs, the knightess flew back and bounced off the roof. She let go of her weapon and tumbled all the way to the edge. Her heart raced like mad as she realized what was about to happen. Rami tried her best to slow down, but there was little she could do; she fell over the ledge. She barely managed to grab the parapet and hung on a rim, eyes tightly shut as she almost drowned in fear. Her grip was steady, but she knew it was not for long. Calming her breath, she opened her eyes, frantically trying to think. She was afraid to take but a single look down: there were dozens of feet between her and the paved courtyard.

With a short grunt, she pulled herself up slightly and pushed with her feet against the wall. She held onto the ledge with all she had, feeling her arms burn with the strain. Barely breathing, ready to risk it and pull up again, she saw Xendric emerge by her side.

“I got you!” he shouted, grabbing her by the arm.

“Thanks!” Ramilda uttered back. “Hold fast… Pull!”

Teeth gnashing, the wizard pulled, and Rami moved along. She leaned against the ledge with her elbow, pushed, and finally slumped back over the parapet. All she wanted was to lay down and catch her breath, but battle instincts kicked in, and she reached for the sword. She smiled at the sorcerer and then saw the bronze spear impale him through the back; the gargoyle swooped in from behind.

“No!” the knight screamed, horrified.

With a stifled moan, Xendric touched the wound. The gargoyle yanked the spear out, and the sorcerer collapsed, bleeding. As Eckbert and Katsumoto pressed on, the beast jumped back, leaving Rami for later as it belched fire at the warriors. With no moment to spare, Swann rushed to the dying sorcerer, grabbing her Estus flask. She poured all the living flame she had into his mouth – just in time. The mage’s wounds were quickly mending as he gasped for air.

“Stay with me,” she uttered. “Stay with me.”

“Thank you,” Xendric wheezed as he stood up.

Swann looked around her; one of the gargoyles was nowhere to be seen. Eckbert was in the middle of something unimaginable; he let go of his mace, threw the shield right into the gargoyle’s face, then lunged at the beast, and locked its neck in a firm chokehold. He held the monster down with his weight; at this distance, the gargoyle’s spear was useless, and its talons kept glancing off the plate armor. Ramilda grabbed her sword; lightning streaks were still flashing around the blade.

“Cut its wings off!” Eckbert shouted.

Katsumoto attacked along with her. The gargoyle tried to free itself and failed. As Gabi chanted the words of a healing miracle near Xendric, he raised his staff and pierced the beast with a soul spear. The gargoyle was near breaking point, and a couple of well-placed strikes could end the fight. The beast kicked blindly with its leg and shoved the samurai away. Ramilda raised her sword and delivered a powerful cut at the wing – the blade almost cut through the bone and glanced off. With another backswing, she struck again and severed the wing, blade cutting bone and membrane like cloth. The golden lightings ceased their wild dance.

The gargoyle shrieked. Eckbert pushed with all he had, like some ancient hero of legends, and simply threw the gargoyle off the roof. With a loud scream, the monster plummeted down, crashed into the cobblestones, and spread on the ground, motionless.

As Ramilda looked back, she saw Lautrec cut the last gargoyle’s neck with his shotels and jump off onto the roof. Solaire finished the beast, thrusting his sword into its maw. The battle was over. For a few moments, Ramilda couldn’t shake the disbelief: they did it. They challenged the bell guardians and won. Deep inside her, in the deepest corner of her heart, slowly breaking through the anger, fury, and thrill of the fight, a quiet sense of triumph was awakening. Now, only one thing remained to be done.

She watched as Solaire retrieved his blade and walked slowly towards Lautrec. With a short laugh, the two knights patted each other on the shoulder. Ramilda couldn’t help but smile. Gabi immediately ran off towards them, and the knightess approached Xendric in turn and smiled at him.

“Thanks for the rescue.”

“We all did well. My gratitude goes out to you as well.”

“You had me scared for a moment there,” the knight laughed nervously.

“Well, if I could have any say in that, I would never impale myself on a spear,” the sorcerer smiled.

“I wouldn’t want to take a flight from the rooftop, either,” Rami shook her head. “Thanks again.”

“I suppose we should move?”

“Well, well, well,” Lautrec announced as he approached them. “Looks like we did it. Time to ring the bell.”

“Let’s take a good look-around first,” Xendric suggested. “Their souls are not going anywhere, but I wouldn’t want a fourth gargoyle to get a jump on us all of a sudden.”

They found no fourth guardian. When they entered the bell tower, all they saw was age-old dust covering the stone floor. Along the walls, a narrow staircase was winding upwards like a snake, and as Ramilda looked up, she felt her head spin for a moment.

The long ascent led them straight to the bell chamber. Before them was a massive bell attached to a large metallic yoke resembling a key head. Ramilda could see no cord attached to the clapper, but then she noticed a big lever, apparently connected to the mechanism that set the bell in motion.

“Here we are,” she heard Eckbert’s voice booming underneath his helmet. “Once more…”

“I’ll let you do the honors,” Xendric smiled.

“’Tis for others to do it now. I have already laid my hands on this lever.”

“Enjoy the victory while you can,” Lautrec said amicably as he patted Rami on the back. “And better store this feeling somewhere deep. You’ll need it when it gets worse.”

Swann hesitated.

“Thanks for the help. We won’t forget that.”

Lautrec raised his palm dismissively.

“And so, the moment has come,” Katsumoto said as he stepped towards the lever. He was smiling. “Let’s do this, Rami.”

The knightess nodded. Overcome with joy, she felt her heart beat faster in anticipation. They placed their hands on the lever and pulled together. Gears grinding, the chains of the mechanism came into motion. The bell swayed, and as the clapper struck the bronze, a loud, sweet, powerful ring spread above the Parish, the mountain, the entire Lordran. Each stroke a heartbeat, it sailed off to the Burg, to the Firelink Shrine, to the unreachable walls of Anor Londo. It was at this moment that the entire way they came was revealed before them, clear as never before, and from the fateful belfry, the sunlit view appeared truly stunning. The sense of triumph and accomplishment was almost overwhelming.

Now, their destination shifted far down, to the lower Bell of Awakening. To the mysterious Blighttown, beneath the Firelink. They could not let their guard down now, not after this. Yet this cheerful moment of triumph filled Rami’s heart with pure joy. Now, after a century of silence, the bell was ringing again, and with it, all the accursed bearers of the Darksign found their voice again.

The bell’s song sent chills down Ramilda’s spine. She was smiling; deep down, she wished for Captain de Plancy and her friends to hear it too, beyond the distant mountains. The bell swayed again.

***

The anxiety came back later.

Their victory’s euphoria faded fast. The fact that they prevailed where an entire army had perished didn’t help much; Eckbert and Tarkus had ascended that belfry too, one hundred lost years ago. In the end, even after ringing both bells, they too made a misstep. Sen’s Fortress, its menacing walls well visible from the cathedral’s roof, devoured them, one by one, and the heroes of yesteryear were crushed by the mystical golem – a giant that Ramilda couldn’t dare imagine.

Tarkus, _the_ Black Iron Tarkus, a living legend in his own time, failed to pass this test – and nine knights of Balder couldn’t help him. She’s seen them in that crypt – great warriors of days long gone, mere piles of bones. Who was she to ever measure up to them? Was their present fellowship really that strong? If ten mightiest knights of their day came so close to uncovering the mystery and still failed, what chances did _they_ have? Indeed, they were lucky up until now. They fought well together. And yet, Ramilda couldn’t help but think that, compared to the heroes of old, their own fellowship must have looked rather dim.

She was never one to despond. War, of all things, taught her that mistakes and failures happen, and that there will always be another day to make it all right. That in order to prevail and snatch victory from the jaws of defeat, one had to learn from their mistakes and deliver the counterblow. And the worst thing of all was to think it all lost, to simply lay down and give up. Ramilda had avoided this pitfall before, and she had no intention of succumbing to it now. And yet…

…Yet the stakes were too high. The reality was different. The greatest crucible of her life rose before her a relentless colossus – and their fellowship was but a moth in its shadow, rushing towards the flame and its own demise. Lautrec’s words got stuck in her head.

Any war, any battle had its own margin of error – one that still allowed to get back at the enemy and win. But when the price of error was too high, it went beyond that margin, dooming those who made it. Here, in Lordran, any error’s price was high. Every careless step could launch a snowball that would send them spiraling down to their ruin. So far, fortune was favoring them, but what would the margin of error be next time?

Ten mighty, experienced knights crossed that margin when they made a mistake at some point during the fateful assault. Their own fellowship was, undoubtedly, far more likely to err – and with grim consequences.

They claimed the souls of the gargoyles and the long-deceased Fire Keeper, and then Lautrec departed, bidding them all good luck. The knight of Fina told them he will hang about the Firelink Shrine. He left a strange impression, his aims and motives still nebulous, his words unnerving at times, yet he helped the fellowship selflessly, even though he wasn’t at all obligated to fight the gargoyles. And – he refused to take any souls. He could, of course, simply take the risk for some future benefits, but Solaire spoke up for him, too. Lautrec’s cynicism, alienating to Rami at first, gradually gnawed its way into her heart; it wasn’t just for show, and Swann realized full well that Lautrec had adopted this worldview for a reason. There were both rationale and experience behind what he said, and no matter how Ramilda tried, she could not escape thinking about it. And the deeper that poisoned arrow went into her heart, the more she started to doubt herself. She kept thinking back to all who died trying to fulfill the prophecy, and she could feel that deep, inexplicable sense of dread hovering above her again.

And then, they tended to the fallen. In the far end of the transept, opposite the side entrance, they discovered a lift – no doubt the one that connected the cathedral to the Firelink. Two platforms appeared to be a counterweight to each other, but the lift wasn’t working due to a missing chain in a critical spot – one that should have linked the gears. While Ryu was inspecting the mechanism, Ramilda, Solaire, and Somerset were helping Eckbert carry the bodies of his hollowed brothers in arms.

They arranged the corpses in rows along the walls of the cathedral – they simply had nowhere to bury them. The only way they could honor the soldiers and knights of Balder now was to place them to lie in state, weapon in hand. The cathedral was to become their mass grave. Underneath its ancient vaults, they were all equals now.

Eckbert told Ramilda of that rapier-wielding knight whom he granted the final mercy. His name was Dagobert. The finest blade of the Knights of Balder, he met his end while covering the retreat of his brothers. That image was now scorched into Rami’s memory – the image of a hollow knight _allowing_ Eckbert to finish him. To think that he could possibly recognize his old friend was both astonishing and horrifying. There could be no definitive answer, and Ramilda didn’t know which one she preferred. For it may well have been that, through Dagobert’s hollowed eyes, her own future had gazed at her.

“It must be hard, sir Eckbert,” Solaire said when they were finished, “to see the people you used to know in this state. Please know that you have my sympathies.”

“Indeed,” Eckbert responded after a pause. “Still, my final duty to them is to put them to rest. They would want it that way.”

“True. I think, if their souls could remember, they would appreciate what you did.”

“I was wondering… Tell me, what has happened to Balder in the last hundred years? Has the country succumbed to the curse completely, or has anything at all survived?”

Ramilda decided she had no right to say nothing.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, sir Eckbert, but the kingdoms of Balder and Berenike are nothing but ruins. Even the sun never shines in those lands.”

“Indeed, all that’s left is the everlasting night and age-old dust,” Solaire nodded. “I went there once. A sunless place, in more ways than one.”

“How tragic,” Eckbert sighed. “Did at least some of our people survive and find refuge in foreign lands?”

“They did,” Rami reassured him. “In Astora, we have a diaspora of Baldrians in the north, but as far as I know, not many survived the downfall. It was nasty, sir. Many of them never made it. In many places, they were denied entry because of the Curse. The rest either formed communities or melted into local peoples.”

“Well, at least there was some good in my homeland’s plight,” the Purple Knight sighed. He picked up the worn scabbard with Dagobert’s rapier in it and brought it close to his face. “One more thing. I wish to return this weapon to the one who… bestowed it upon Dagobert. His Majesty King Rendal is entombed in the bonfire tower.”

“May I request to be present?” Ramilda asked as she cleared her throat. “I… would like to pay a visit to the Knight-King. To see his final resting place.”

“You may all come with me. After what you’ve done today, I suppose, you have more than deserved that.”

They all entered the improvised crypt with their helmets off. Their steps echoed in the dark room at the base of the tower, scarce light seeping through lancet holes. It felt like the very darkness around them spread the echo. In the room’s center, a big, crude sarcophagus without any ornaments lay on a plinth. It was no work of a renowned master, nor a centerpiece of a royal tomb, nor did it bear an effigy of a departed king. It was merely a plain stone coffin – the only one that a dying army could provide for their leader. A warrior’s casket for a king who remained a warrior to the bitter end.

A smooth, bare lid with small cracks on the edges. A dusty purple cloak trimmed with gold covering it at the head. And a crowned helmet with a raised visor and a gaping hole in its side.

As Ramilda approached the sarcophagus, she saw the inscription etched into the lid: “Here lies Rendal, Knight-King of Balder.” Then, she locked her eyes on the helmet – and couldn’t look away. She could see that fearsome blow – the one that killed the living legend. She used to read about Rendal ever since she was a child, his last campaign often stirring her imagination, but she never dared to think she would see the traces of those events with her own eyes. And all the books, all the fantasies and novels about king Rendal’s demise were no match for the cold, brutal, sharp reality staring at her from the empty helmet.

Eckbert knelt before the sarcophagus. With great reverence, he placed the sheathed rapier on the lid, its gilded hilt gleaming faintly in the dim light.

“Your Majesty,” the knight’s words cut the silence like a knife, “Sir Dagobert’s journey is over. I hereby return to you the sword you have gifted him.”

Silence shrouded the room. None of them dared to utter a single word. Ramilda could feel the anxiety filling her heart to the brim until it became unbearable. And then, a wild torrent of dreadful visions surged through her mind.

She was not here. Once more, she was staring at the girl’s portrait within that locket from the barracks. A memory of a person who was probably turned to dust by the merciless history, along with the one who kept that locket close to his heart till his last breath. Once more, she saw the hollow soldiers rallying to the call of their commander. She saw their faces – their still living faces, though she never knew them.

Leofric. Guntram. Dagobert. It tore her apart to realize that all that was left of them was their names – and fading memories of a man who used to know them. How many more were there – how many whose names forever faded into obscurity? How many unknown soldiers damned to oblivion? There was no one to save them from its cold embrace. No one to etch their names on a stone monument immortalizing their senseless, noble, heroic sacrifice, to preserve for posterity at least the sound of their names – the only thing that would be left of them. Even fallen to the abyss, their smiles, their laughter, their songs, all their suffering and misery, all the dear faces and memories – all of it could echo through their names for eternity, but there were no names to be found. Fruitless or not, a sacrifice was still a sacrifice. Nobody in the entire world deserved to be forgotten – especially those who laid down their lives to save their home.

Ramilda could see different faces in their stead. The faces of her comrades – the Knights of Astora. Frido. Leonora. Sigibert. Cenwulf. Conrad de Plancy. Grand Master Guillaume de Redin. Father Thurmod and mother Avelyn. How easy it was – to picture her own country in place of Balder if, by some twisted chance, it were the first to fall victim to the Curse. Ramilda saw it all like in a dream. Knights of Astora in Lordran, their campaign a fiasco. Blue and Gold, in place of Purple – thrown at the mercy of merciless time. Her friends and battle brothers, hollowed and forgotten. Astora lying in ruins. Fields of golden wheat turned to dust. The barren land and the sunless sky. The remains of castles, towns – and her home, her sweet dearest home in the depths of memory. A home on a blue river falling into dark.

A wave of emotions washed over her. Only now could she feel the enormous depth of terror that dwelled inside her, biding its time. Now, mixed with apprehension, it wracked her. She gasped with a shudder and shut her eyes, trying to shake off the nightmare. She called on her last reserves, last thread of hope she hung by over the abyss.

She wanted to cry, but at the last moment, some sharp impulse coming straight from her heart made her regain composure. She was not going to surrender this last bastion of hers. She lost in a fight with her emotions, ceding all positions except for one. She could not escape the disturbing thoughts and images – and she knew they would torment her for some time yet. Some of them will forever remain scorched into her memory, and only time will put them to sleep until another day. But through it all, deep down she still remained the same. A knight who will fight until the very end. And no matter how hard it was, this indestructible tower was still hers to command.


End file.
